


Hello Stranger

by ValarMorghulis508



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8.07 onwards, 8.17, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger - The Crypt Scene, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Season/Series 08, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValarMorghulis508/pseuds/ValarMorghulis508
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas are like two positively charged ions that can never quite meet. Now that Cas is back from Purgatory, surely nothing can come between them now, can it? It doesn't help when Dean's memories are shown to him in a new light</p><p>Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set as canon divergence from 8x07 onwards so spoilers up till and including. Will have spoilers through the rest of the season too.  
> More tags to come as they become applicable
> 
> My first SPN fic.. Be kind.. I'm still getting a feel for the characters.

He’d relived that moment so many times that he’d lost count. The stage was set, the summoning had been completed and the hunters played a well rehearsed position in their waiting game. Dean could recall perfectly the various devil's traps and warding sigils that Bobby had painted across the ramshackle barn. The weapons, laying too neatly upon the table, the only thing sturdy and steady in the empty room, in an order that was soon to be terribly disrupted. Having seen what this… this entity was capable of, it was only natural that Dean be somewhat nervous.

Dean tried to play it off as he would anything else. Ever the joker in an unpleasant situation. Always avoiding anything that came close to expressing what he was actually feeling. He’d become even better at it since returning topside. He was surprised that Sam hadn’t picked up on it. He was like a bloodhound when it came to something worthy of a chick flick moment. The heavy weight of what he’d done while he was in hell was like a black hole in his gut. The sucking inside him took everything that could have been good and light and dragged it into that dark pit and reminded him repeatedly of what he’d become.

So he played his part, hoping Sam would think he had somehow miraculously returned unscathed by the fire for as long as he could. As the wooden planks battered against boarded windows, the sheet metal roofing threatening to be ripped right off, his poor and desperate joke attempted to hide what indeed was wishful thinking. Maybe it was just the wind.

The sounds of creaking and snapping wood to herald his arrival had been nothing on the piercing screeching that had preceded them. Once he’d made it to the gas station in Pontiac, Illinois, his senses were still on the mend. His vision was somewhat blurred, just at the edges. That had cleared up quickly enough before reaching Bobby. His olfactory senses were a little dulled. Everything still smelled like soil and fire and rotting flesh. Perhaps 40 years in hell, either being torn apart or tearing others apart was something that just clung to you. He’d thought more than once over the coming weeks that maybe he’d come back with some residual something wedged in his nose but it had passed soon enough. Once he could completely appreciate the waft of a cheeseburger or some apple pie again, he thought ‘hey, maybe the rest of him could be fixed too’.

Even in the hotel room later on his hearing hadn’t yet fully recovered. It was still sensitive when the shrill ringing had burst the windows and the mirror above his head. With hands clamped hard over his ears, begging for a reprieve long enough that he could at least catch his breath, Bobby had burst in and was seemingly unaffected by it. It hadn’t been as painful as it was at the gas station. Dean had taken that to mean he was still slowly coming back. He’d never even think that this being was trying to speak to him directly.

When Dean first caught a glimpse of the infamous beast that had burned the eyes out of Pam and the demons at the diner, he was expecting something more. What came through those wooden barn doors was, seemingly, just a man. A short, compared to Dean anyway, tax accountant. Nothing at all extraordinary about him other than a presence behind deep blue eyes. Dean could feel him as soon as he’d entered, hell maybe even before. Maybe he’d been following him since the hotel, since Bobby's, since the gas station. Probably ever since he crawled his way through the earth from his own grave. Whatever he was, he was focused solely on Dean. The feeling had passed though, as soon as it came. The meatsuit never mattered, the thing inside did. It just needed the legs to walk with.

As he crossed the empty space in the barn, his eyes only drifted from his target to glance, somewhat quizzically at the shattering glass above them. The bulbs bursting in their sockets somehow a foreign concept to their destroyer. When his attentions were back to Dean, even the blasts of his shotgun couldn’t tear his gaze away. He was looking at the hunter with such a determination and such a satisfaction, the likes of a predator that had finally caught up to his prey and knew that the catch was inevitable. He walked through the shells as if they were nothing but an unwanted breeze.

Upon reaching his prey the man began to circle Dean, seemingly oblivious or uncaring to the older hunter behind him. Feeling the full weight of his attentions, Dean noted the feeble battle within him between fight and flight. It wasn’t much of a battle. His fight instinct had, more than likely, always won. There was nothing to be gained from running. If he ran, it usually meant Sam would be left behind or his own prey would continue the killing spree that attracted them in the first place. Fight was his only option. Though it would likely get him killed or severely injured now, fight was always his only option.

If he was to die here tonight, he may as well know what has been hunting him. What psychopath would toy with his food before eating it.  
“Who are you.” Three feeble words, yet the only three Dean could get out with the tax accountant pushing into his personal space. If he was to kill him, he hoped it would be at least a quick death. He wondered if he’d be going straight back to the pit. Back to Alistair. The thought terrified him more than the being in front of him.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Confusion flooded through Dean's veins and into every orifice it could find. As the words fell from his lips like honey across gravel, it slowly began to sink in. He’d saved him from hell. Or had he dragged him out to begin some fresh new torture? What intentions did demons, creatures, whatever he was, have? Why did he bring him back? Why was he hunting him now? From Pontiac and undoubtedly to Sioux Falls and back, it had to be some fresh torment cooked up by Alistair and the very memory sent a new wave of terror to the marrow in his bones. Bones soon to be broken and marrow soon to be cut out.

That didn’t matter. He was out. So what if bullets and traps didn’t work on him. Ruby’s knife worked on almost everything. If it could be killed, Dean would end it before it began.  
“Yeah, thanks for that.” He plunged the knife into its heart as if he was butter. Any other thing would be screaming in a flash of white and red but he just stood there. His mouth curving upwards somewhat in.. amusement? Damn, he really was screwed. Alistair had outdone himself. Letting Dean think he was free. Giving him just long enough to find Bobby and Sam before coming back for him. The man pulled the knife from his chest and dropped it to the floor.

He continued to study Dean as if he was this fantastic enigma. He seemingly could have stood there for hours, observing every freckle and trying to pinpoint the shade of green in Dean’s eyes. He only tore himself away when Bobby had come at him and he’d caught the tyre iron over his shoulder.

Dean remembered that too. The fear that the one man who had been more like a father to him than his own could be dead at the gentle touch of two fingers. No bullet, no knife, no fangs. Just a gentle touch and, what Dean thought to be, an echo of whispers. He was still coming back. Perhaps he’d heard them too.

When he’d turned back, those eyes bore into him again. He’d stared at Dean, seemingly trying to unravel some great mystery and somehow in awe of the hunter. Did killers worship their victims? What kind of demon would turn down any opportunity for instant bloodshed for those unimportant to them. He could have flayed Bobby as easily as he’d taken him down. Did he have plans for him as well?

“We need to talk, Dean.”

\---------------------------------------------

He’d remember those moments perfectly. For years and years to come, he’d remember every breath, every fear, every instinct that told him he was in for a world of hurt that he’d hadn’t even experienced in his 40 years in the pit. The first time he’d met Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was permanently fixed in Dean Winchester's brain.

Even in the times Dean wanted to forget him, forget everything about him, his brain had refused. When he’d come back from his ass reaming in Heaven, even more bent on following ‘God’s’ rules. When he’d teamed up with Crowley, betraying every trust that had formed so delicately over years. When he’d left him in Purgatory. That one maybe hurt the most. Not knowing for God only knows how long what had happened to his Angel. Time passed differently in Purgatory. At least he thinks it did. He had prayed to him every night and countlessly during the day. He’d send out what he could see around him. How many cockroaches he’d ganked. He’d complain about missing Sam. Missing food. It kept him sane. He refused then to believe Cas was dead. What else could have happened to him? When he’d finally found him and Cas told him that he’d ran, that he’d left, there was the smallest moment when he could feel the tendons in his heart snapping. Maybe pain was felt differently there too.

In that brief moment, he wanted Cas to just leave again. If he didn’t want to fight with him, then just let him leave and be done with it. Dean could forget him and leave him to the gorilla-wolves. That moment that could have been seconds, could have been hours before Cas told him he ran to keep Dean safe. To keep the leviathans away from him and throw himself into the line of fire. Dean had tried to shut Cas out of his brain again but to no avail. He never could.

Cas had told him that they shared a profound bond. Dean had thought it ridiculous. So what if Cas dragged his ass out of hell. It was his orders. Not like he did it out of the kindness of his own Grace. Maybe that was why Dean remembered everything that happened between them so vividly. The time they laughed running out the backdoor of that ‘den of iniquity’. When Cas had defied his orders and took Dean from Heaven's green room, severing his link to Heaven. He’d given so much for Dean but somehow they still fought against each other like two positively charged ions that could never fully meet. Getting close before pushing each other away again.

After finally almost having him again after the Leviathans had torn him apart, he was taken from him yet again when Cas took on Sam’s Burden. When he almost had him at least _with him_ in purgatory, he bailed. When he finally had him whole in Purgatory, with a chance to get out and back home so they could finally fix what they had been screwing up for so many years, he’d failed him. He fought with everything he had to get Cas through that damn portal but he’d lost him. And probably for good this time.

It was when he came back that everything had been thrown out of orbit. He thought that he was going crazy when he saw him on the side of the road. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw him again by their motel room window. He’d never have Cas out of his head. The Angel of the Lord would follow him to the ends of the earth. Maybe it was a fresh torture. A slow burn to make him trust and care for the Angel, only to rip him away when he got too close. Almost let him have him, then tear him back again. Each time felt worse than anything Alistair had ever done.

When he appeared to him in the bathroom, Dean fought every urge he had not to pull him close and wrap his arms around him, if only to prove that he was real. When he spoke, it was as if all the doubt that had built up over those days and weeks without him, the crazy that had built from seeing him and not seeing him, melted away. He was really here.

That didn’t stop the burning in the back of his mind reminding him that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if Cas was back, Dean still failed him. He told himself he didn’t, he told himself over and over but that burning stayed. He didn’t get him through the portal. He left him in Purgatory. Left him with leviathans and vampires and every brand of cockroach right on his tail. Until now, Dean was certain he had gotten Cas killed.

When he came out of the bathroom freshly shaven and donned in his signature trench coat, somehow scrubbed clean of the filth left from purgatory, Dean allowed himself a moment. A mere half breath to appreciate that his Cas was back. He ignored the rising heat, forcing him to adjust in his chair. He hadn’t seen Cas, _his_ Cas, since before the Leviathans and it stirred something not only in his chest. He’d become half-hard at the vision in front of him and he tried to brush it off because all at once it didn’t matter. It didn't matter and on some level he didn’t care how or why, Cas had come back to him and didn’t he always? Cas always found a way back to Dean.

He tried to keep his guilt inside him for as long as he could. He could maybe fool Sam but Cas was with him in Purgatory. He saw right through Dean and knew exactly when he lied. Knew when he was hiding something as little as hunger from the Angel. Cas would never say anything. He’d just bring him whatever was edible or heal him when his wounds were worse than he said they were. The use of his Grace attracted all sorts to the three of them but Cas didn’t care. Benny, Dean and Cas had aligned with a perfect synchronicity and took down everything that dare cross them.

So of course Cas knew when he was lying now. He knew Dean felt guilty but his trademark squint and head tilt couldn’t figure out why. When Dean finally found the words, they came out with such an anger, such rage that he knew Cas was probably going to leave him again.  
“I did not leave you!”

It was only made worse by his damn recklessness. Going in alone to get the tablet off of Crowley. It’s like he was trying to get himself killed. Like he didn't care what happened to him. When Cas tried to explain that maybe he was, that he wanted to stay in purgatory, it was like his heart was tearing apart all over again. Cas wants to be away from Dean. Dean craves those moments when they try to come together again. Cas tries to pull them apart. He couldn’t say if the Angel does it intentionally, it doesn't matter if he does, it still hurts all the same. But when Dean feels those two fingers on his own skin, forcing forward the memory of Cas shoving Dean away at the portal, his actions are protective. It's the same memory but with with a glowing grace caressing the edges with a softness that doesn't belong in the harsh black and white of Purgatory. Cas’ actions are strong. He’s taking what he wants. What he wants is to stay away from Dean.

Penance be damned. Dean couldn’t care less about what Cas did on Earth and in Heaven. He just wants the Angel by his side.

\-----------------------------------------

It wasn’t until that night that the epiphany finally struck. In the dead of night with Dean restlessly asleep and alone in his head, one of the very few places he dreaded being, Dean felt other memories creeping to the surface. Other memories that would usually be so strong and so clear, shining with another light. First and foremost, the night when he met his first Angel of the Lord.

He’d relived that moment so many times he’d lost count. He could perfectly hear the creaking of the wood, the shotgun blasts that brushed past him like dust, the way the knife sank into him like he was butter. It had been repeated so many times since then, mostly in the safety of his dreams but tonight was different. He knew his vision had recovered before he met him, but now he was seeing the same scene with a faded white light at some of the edges. It was just like when Cas had shown him Purgatory, it was just as he remembered but the new parts had a glow in the corners. Just the moments that Cas had tampered with and restored.

What else was there to remember about the barn? Dean felt himself in a body too young for him. A body weaker but made stronger from years of torments he hadn’t lived yet. He saw the scene as it was, searching for flickers of light. He swore he remembered everything about this night.

He heard the creak of the wooden doors, right on cue as his tax accountant entered yet again only this time he was different. Cas still looked up to the shattering bulbs and crossed through gunshots to reach Dean but this time.. This time his wings were following behind him, the tips of the black primary feathers dragging on the floor in a grace and an elegance that seemed so out of place with the violence surrounding it.

Dean completely matched the confusion of the face he was wearing, the face that was playing out the same script as it had over and over before but where Dean usually came along for the ride, this time there was a glow. This time he knew Cas and could see him for what he was.

The faint glow had only come when Cas had entered. The parts he knew, painting with Bobby, setting up the weapons and joking that it was only the wind - they were all dark. They were dark and hard and yet Dean still loved them. He loved every time he came back to this moment. But now, As soon as Cas had broken through the door and walked the traps like they were nothing more than the dirt under his shoes, a glow surrounded his peripheral.

It was as if he saw the memory with new eyes. Each time he dreamt of this he was always the Dean that was present. The scared hunter from years ago when the worst thing he’d seen was Alistair. This time he saw Cas in the new light that surrounded them.

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Cas' wings. His physical body kept his eyes locked on the intruder so he had to make do with the peripheral. He’d only ever seen them as projected shadows and that seemed like a weak perversion of their true strength and beauty. Dean had always wanted to see them but never had the courage to ask. Not even sure if he could given what had happened to Pam but now they were here. Unfiltered and worn proudly as if they were there the whole time. Had they been?

Cas approached Dean and gave his same answer to Deans stupid question;  
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Dean mirrored the wonder and awe painted across Cas’ features though he’d always wondered why. He knew why he wore it. It’s not like Dean had wings or something sprouting from his back. He knew why Cas was beautiful. He felt his arm begin to rise, hoping he’d pierced the veil and was able to touch the softer feathers at their curve over Cas' shoulder. He was moving too fast though and his grip was tight. He would have flinched if he had any control over his meatsuit. This must be how the vessel feels in a possession.

Dean felt his hand tense around Ruby’s blade before he dropped his fingers away, waiting for the demon flash to die within him but knew it wouldn’t come. His body was following a well known and rehearsed script and it wouldn’t stray, it had played out so many times before. It was the Dean inside that felt that everything was wrong.

As soon as the blade went in, Dean screamed against his own skin. He can’t hurt Cas. Some part of him knew that Ruby’s knife wouldn’t affect him, that this was only in his head, but he didn't want to hurt him all the same. Not after everything he’d done for Dean. They’d only just met, but not really. He was so beautiful, so powerful and he didn’t even know. He couldn’t even see, but he could. Dean followed his own eyes as they turned from the knife and looked back to the tax accountant in front of him. That same half smile and steady hand pulled the blade out and dropped it to the floor.

He felt himself scream against parted lips but nothing came out. He begged to be able to change this story but was fighting a losing battle. He thrashed against unmoving skin and felt words come out of his mouth of their own accord. He needed to be out of this dream. Something was wrong here and he needed to leave. In a desperate and last attempt, he prayed. He prayed that Sam would wake him to drag him on some stupid case. He prayed that Cas would hear him and the dream could change. He needed to leave.

\--------------------------------

“Dean? Dean!”

Sam shook Dean’s shoulders with a growing intensity in an attempt to drag him from his dream. He’d played this part so many times over the years it had grown to be second nature. It happened sometimes when they were kids. Dean would dream of their Mother or about something happening to their Dad. As he got older, the faces changed but the song remained the same. He’d have nightmares about Azazeal, about hell hounds, about Lilith and Lucifer and Leviathans. He’d have nightmares about Alistair and his voice would haunt till sunrise. He’d have them about Lucifer beating Dean with Sam’s own hands. About Cas teaming with Crowley. About Cas overflowing with white light and commanding him to kneel. He’d have nightmares about Cas with black veins and ooze pouring from his scalp and fingertips before leaving him again to vanish into the depths of a lake. More currently, he dreamed about Purgatory.

Whenever Sam woke him, he knew it could have been any of the above. His older brother, who’d fought so hard to protect him over years, over his whole life still couldn’t escape it in his dreams. Sam had them too but not quite so often. He’d still have them, of course he did. Mostly it was watching Dean being torn apart by hell hounds or being helpless inside Lucifer's vessel. Sam had begun to learn to accept what had happened and tried to move on. It made the dreams less frequent, which was something. Dean, it seemed, held on to all of it.

“Dean!”

Dean gasped and sat upright, eyes wide and shuffling to the head of his bed. He dug his fingers into the cheap motel sheets as if they were the only thing saving him from slipping back to the barn. With the dim yellow glow of Sam’s bedside light, the ugly wallpaper and stagnant smell grounded him allowed his breathing to return to normal. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up like this and it wouldn’t be the last.

Finally, he focused on the weight pressing down the side of his bed. His younger brother with his dark golden locks all askewed from the sleep he’d be having if it wasn't for another of Dean's nightmares and the guilt already began to flood back in. Even in so small a dose, he felt naked without at least some in his system.

“What was it this time?” Sam pushed hesitantly. When he told Dean about what tormented him at night it made it somewhat easier to deal with. Like he knew it couldn’t hurt him if he told his brother and protector about it. Dean rarely, if ever, spoke about what was bothering him and if he did, he spewed it out in a bitter rage, often sweetened with whiskey. There’d be none of that left in his bloodstream though, seeing as he stopped drinking hours ago before crashing on the bed. It may be a long shot, but Dean could sometimes be more suggestible when he first woke up.

Dean couldn’t meet his brother's eye. He couldn’t tell him it was Cas. Again. He had no reason to have nightmares about him. He was back from purgatory. He could make one simple prayer and Cas could be right in the room with them. Even if he had been distant after coming back that was only natural. Neither of them knew how he got out. He just did. Dean had figured he was on some mission for answers. He couldn’t blame him.

As the after effects of last night's whiskey threatened to pound at the back of his skull, Dean recalled everything about the dream. He’d had it countless times before. He could replay it backwards and pinpoint exactly what moment he’d woken up in but this one was different. This one had a pale blue and white glow around some of the corners and the more Dean thought about it and its likeness to his jumpstarted memories of purgatory.. was it the whiskey that had changed them, or was it Cas? Either way he’d need to ask him about it. They were his wings after all. He’d know if Dean's interpretation was accurate or just some delusional feverdream.

He looked back to his brother finally after rubbing the sleep from his eyes and avoiding him as long as he could. Dean groaned through a voice too tired for speaking.  
“You know, the usual.” He knew Sam would expect more but he wasn’t in the sharing mood. If he could pass it off as one of his usual occurrences, he may actually be able to sleep through the rest of the early morning. He’d only need a couple more hours and he’d be right to hit the road again. He felt the growing need to be behind Baby’s wheel again. She had a calming effect on him that way. She always had.

Sam gave a half smile, complete sentences readable across his face. Dean knew he wasn’t convincing and knew he had to offer something extra, if even to allow his brother to get back to sleep without worrying. Sam pushed himself off Dean's bed, running his fingers through his hair and moved back towards his own bed on the opposite side of the room before Dean’s quiet voice stopped him in his path.  
“It was Cas.” Sam turned back towards him, his hands falling from around his neck down to his side. The words were out before Dean could run a filter through them. He couldn’t tell him it was the barn again. He’d never have reacted like that to it before. He needed to choose which of his usual Cas-filled nightmares would bring him this much dread.

“In purgatory. We were surrounded by leviathans and I thought he was toast.” It wasn’t a complete lie. That had happened more than once over however long they had been fighting with Benny to find the portal. It had haunted him before now and it was the first thing to pop in his head. Sam seemed a little more convinced, giving a short nod, another half smile, this time warmer and less forced, and a reassuring pat on Dean's shoulder.  
“It must have been hard, Dean, but you’re out now. I’m here if you need me.” Sam never was one to pass up a deep and meaningful if he could.  
“Thanks, bitch. You should get back to sleep before your menstrual cramps start up again.” Sam's mouth curved upward in a full smile, clearly happy at Dean's usual banter.  
“You’re welcome, jerk.”

Sam flicked the side light back off again and the room was cloaked in darkness. The only sliver of light came from the lamp post down the street and crept through the side of the curtain. Dean listened as his gigantor brother slipped noisily back into his sheets and adjusted himself to a comfortable position, then heard the steady rise and fall of his breath and determined he’d fallen asleep quite easily soon after. Dean envied how Sam could more or less drop his head on a pillow and be out for the night. Or the remainder of the early morning. It was this time that Dean struggled with. The deafening silence that allowed his mind to wander to less than favourable moments or decisions made that tore gaping wounds in either his flesh or someone else's. Or drove walls between him and those he loved. It was moments like this he’d think of Mom and Dad. Of Lisa and Ben. And more often than not, of Cas.

As it happened, Cas did turn out to be some perfect enigma. A riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in Jimmy's meatsuit and trench coat. Everytime he thought he understood the Angel, something else would drive them apart and the more Dean thought about it the more it sickened him. If Purgatory and Benny had taught him anything it was that Purgatory was pure. There was only fight to live or give up and die. It was simple and it was easy. Home, not so much.

It’s not that he saw Sam as a burden. He loved his brother more than anything in the world. He’d fight by his side till the very end and he still had to protect him. His dorky little brother that, on every hunt, would have his nose in a book for the entire drive. Dean still felt there was something in Sam that radiated a sort of innocence. A glow that Dean wanted to protect at any cost. Worrying Sam with a possible hallucination didn’t seem worthy of the attention it would receive. He could figure this out on his own. He didn’t want to burden his brother.

He needed more. He need to know if that glowing light was residual whiskey and brought on by the, honestly, exhausting events of the day. Or if Cas did awaken more than he meant to. One little dream wouldn’t be enough to go on.

Dean slid back down the bed and tried to get as comfortable as his body allowed. He pressed his head back into the flat motel pillows, held his crossed arms in front of his chest and turned on his side. He couldn’t sleep on his back. He’d never admit it to Sammy, but he’d never felt comfortable staring at the ceiling.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Two weeks had passed and Dean didn’t have another dream. Well, he had plenty of dreams, mostly bad. Some good. There was a couple with some of the girls from Busty Asian Beauties that actually saddened him to wake up from. It had been a long time since he dreamt of anything other than the hell that was his life. He put it down to the clarity he’d found inside of Purgatory. It may have been one of the best things that had happened to him, he’d never tell that to Sam though.

Two weeks had passed without seeing Cas either. They’d spoken briefly on the phone now and then about cases and some creature they’d be hunting but he hadn’t seen him since he boosted his memories. Just the one. One memory. So it stood, anyway. Cas was busy. He had been avoiding Heaven which was understandable. Last time he was there he didn't exactly leave them with a hug and kiss goodbye. As far as Dean knew he was picking up the pieces that the overcharge of a million plus souls left behind for him on Earth. Churches and organisations left devastated and religion itself even vanishing from some small communities. Cas had made himself known as the new God. He’d left plenty of broken witnesses and shattered halls. After that, the Leviathans made their own hell that Cas felt was his responsibility to clean up. Dean understood what Cas was doing. He knew too much about cleaning up your own messes. Without any answers as to how Cas was back, this served as the next best distraction and Dean didn’t see the point of bothering him.

The sound of Cas’ voice, even distorted over the phone, was comforting to Dean. He went so long without it in Purgatory and the year before it that he didn’t realise how warm it was. It was deep and baritone and silk over stone and somehow just hearing it calmed Dean when he was worked up. More than once he’d been on a case with Sam and he started turning bitter. He wasn’t sure what it was but something in him caused him to snap at the victims families or the morgue attendants. Then he’d turn around and go hours without saying a word. He was sure Sam put it down to him being alone for so long and when he wasn’t he was fighting for his life, more often than not. Thankfully Sam didn’t bring it up. That doesn’t mean Dean didn’t catch Sam’s weary side-eyes.

After speaking with Cas about possible nest locations.. Ok he didn’t _need_ Cas’ help but knowing he was willing to assist them where he could made Dean smile in a way he didn’t anymore. He’d never ask what Cas was up to. He knew. He knew it wasn’t an easy task or one that Cas wanted to talk about so they always talked about Dean. Cas would push for how he was feeling and Dean would always brush him off in the same way. He’d ask what they were hunting and Dean told him about the vamps they were looking for. That then led to a discussion about Benny and Cas seemed to only now realise they hadn’t spoken about him since Cas had come back. Sam had returned from crypt of the morgue back to the hallway Dean had excused himself to to answer his phone. He’d found some residual industrial something under the victim's fingernails and knew where the nest was so he gave Cas a quick goodbye and took off with his brother.

Today had been a good day. He kept a level head, found the small nest of vamps and took it out with his brother by his side. Dean and Sam even caught a round at the local bar afterwards before retiring to their room. The wallpaper hadn’t even been as hideous as usual. Dean even went to bed with an almost smile on his face. It was the most he’d felt like himself in months. When Sam turned out the light between their parallel beds, sleep came somewhat easily to him.

Once he’d slipped into his dream state, he’d instantly recognised it and a heavy feeling set over him. He was in Easter, Pennsylvania. Some horrid pink and white leafy rose pattern covered the walls and was reflected with an equally hideous pink bed spread, on top of which, Cas had just deposited a young boy. He wasn’t the Dean of this time as he usually was in these dreams. He was himself. The one that knew the Sam to his right was lacking his soul and he could feel it stronger than he could at the time. It was like how a ghost would drop the room but it was centralised around his brother and he immediately felt his guard go up. He couldn’t deal with that right now. Not when Cas’ wings were again, right in front of him.

Only this time he saw them move through the surrounding walls and furniture. Huh. If they were always there, it’d make sense to have them cloaked like this. Or is it something about them not being visible on this ‘plane of existence’? Zachariah had told him his true form had four faces and six wings or something as ludicrous sounding as that. It was true that if a human sees it their eyes burn out and whatever else had happened to Pam. Is that why he kept them hidden? Was it even intentional? Did he know that they had, even slightly, slipped through the veil?

Of all his recurring dreams, they usually held some sort of traumatic or significant experience. Unsavoury moments from his years as a hunter and from his time as older brother. This moment seemed very _safe_. Nothing had really happened in this moment. He knew Sam was soulless but Sam hadn’t done anything _too_ awful here. Other than allow the boy to be tortured by Cas. Soulless Sam had done much worse. He felt himself ask Cas if they just kidnapped the boy and watched the angels eyes and wings respond.

“When a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark - ”

As he spoke, a soft glow came from under his wings. It was the same soft hue of blue and white he’d seen in the barn. Had Cas really stared at him like this last time? What came in perfect sync was a soft flare of his long black feathers. They opened out, just barely. He tried to focus on the wings but he was stuck in this moment, as he always was. If he hadn’t been forced to watch his faced at that moment, he would have missed the change that washed over it at mention the of -  
“- A brand.”

The Dean that belonged here had thought nothing of it. Or he doubt he did. He would have known if he caught this last time. At this stage, he’d only known Cas a couple of years. Most of that was spent with Cas away in Heaven following orders or just gone when Sam was in hell. If he knew what he knew now, he could tell that his expression was anything but vacant. There was the smallest hint of pain. Dean watched as his features remained still, but his eyes told stories. They’d even flicked down to Dean's shoulder for a moment and he felt the phantom hand print that had been healed almost a year ago.

Dean listened absently as Sam compared it to a shirt tag at camp. He remembered the conversation but for now, it was just white noise. As quickly as they’d flared and trembled, Cas’s wings relaxed down by his side. He felt the question come out of his mouth but had no interest in the answer. He knew what was coming and he didn’t need to see it again. It was hard enough the first time with Sam on board for torturing the poor kid. Maybe that's why he was dreaming of this moment. So Dean can relive the horror on the boys face, even with eyes tightly closed.

He felt himself again, moving forward, pressing on Cas and almost begging him not to proceed. Dean could see the way Cas’ shoulders became tense and rigid. He clearly didn’t want to do this either but knew it was the right thing to do. This Dean would learn later that Cas was in a war. Certain regrettable things were required of him, he’d said. Dean hoped he wouldn’t have to relive the betrayal he felt because of that damn war.

Cas paused from rolling up his sleeve, getting himself ready to read the mark on the boy's soul and faced Dean. There was a fire behind his eyes and Dean knew he wasn’t this mad last time. As he turned, his wings flared out, almost taking the entire width of the room. Or they would have, if not for half of one being in the adjacent hallway.

Dean stared at him in awe. This wasn’t how Cas had shown his wings at the barn. The real barn, not the one that got rebooted. He’d flared them and reflected them with crashes of lightning so Dean could see their true expanse and, dear Gods of Pie, they _were_ impressive. They’d convinced Dean he was .. something. He still wasn’t sold on the God Squad at that point but with wings like that, he had to be something. This was entirely different. Now they were stretched out and forward, as if to intimidate him. Dean recalled a couple of documentaries Sam had watched back in the day, ones Dean tried to drown out with loud music and porn but he still remembered how some birds would spread their wings just like this when in a fight. When they were defending themselves. He’s surprised he remembered that at all. Something in the way Cas covered himself with them mixed with the hundreds of documentaries, something must have subconsciously stuck.

He listened as more words fell from his mouth and Sam and Cas replying but all his attentions were focused on the moments he could catch a glimpse at the great, black wings and how they’d flared out in a display of anger and the fact Cas apparently felt he needed protecting. How could he need both at the same time? It wasn't until he was drawn back by the softness in Cas’s voice as he said,  
“I can’t care about that Dean. I don’t have the luxury.”

Dean watched helplessly as Cas turned back to the kid, shirt sleeve rolled and intentions clear. His wings lowered and held themselves tight at his side and Dean finally knew what those words had meant.  
_‘I can’t care about that.’_ He’d said. When Sam didn’t even challenge him, when he’d let Cas bury his hand in the young boys chest, he knew what it had meant.

He _couldn’t_ care. That didn't mean that he didn’t. He didn’t want to do this as much as Dean didn’t want to see it but, being in a war, he didn’t have the luxury. Sam on the other hand…

His young, puppy-dog, moose of a brother should have. He _didn’t_ care and he made that very clear. Sure, he’d asked if there’d be lasting damage. He’d watched with, what seemed like concern as Cas searched for a name. Dean had hoped it was concern but something deep down in him told him it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything as warm and caring as that. He’d see that same ‘concerned’ look as he’d watch Dean get turned by that vampire. The Dean that wore a younger Dean's meatsuit knew better.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to watch for long. Once Cas’s hand was buried inside the boy's chest, he had been given a reprieve and allowed to wake. It wasn’t a screaming waking either, for that he was thankful as well. He pried his eyes open and turned to see Sam still sleeping peacefully beside him. It was his Sam too. Not the cold, empty shell from years ago. It was his brother that had fought with him and died for him. It was the brother that had fallen in love while he was in Purgatory and left her to come back to Dean.

Dean checked the glare from the alarm clock between their beds and saw it was only 3:07. They’d finally crashed after the vamps nest, after their few drinks at about 1:30 so if he was lucky, he could probably get another 2 hours before their alarm would go off for them to hit the road again.

Dean rolled back over to face the wall, the soft glow coming from the vacancy sign outside was easily preferred over the LEDs in that tiny clock. He tried to push the thought out of his head that this should count as a second dream. It had clearly been altered and Dean didn’t have nearly as much to drink as he had last time. He’d only had a couple of beers, it didn’t even affect him. The glow in his peripheral and under Cas’s wings had to confirm it. Cas had fired up some older memories as well. Not changing them, or not entirely. Just showing them in a new light, quite literally.

After careful deliberation, he decided to wait for one more. One more dream to confirm without a shadow of a doubt that this was Cas’s doing, intentional or not. Then he’d bring it up. Cas had enough on his plate without having to worry that he’d done something to Dean as well.

\------------------------------------------------------

There had been a much shorter wait for the next dream. The third had come the very next night. Dean hadn’t spoken to Cas that day so he couldn't have asked even if he wanted to. They’d spent most of the day on the road towards some gruesome murders with some choice body parts removed. Not enough to be a wendigo. More than enough for a werewolf. Either way, if definitely required their attention.

Dean wouldn't admit that maybe they’d had one too many stop offs on the way over. The killings seemed to be pretty ritual. They’d all occurred on Thursday evenings with a fresh corpse found each Friday morning. They’d left the hotel on Sunday after the report came through on the latest victim. That gave them plenty of time to get there. It was only a day's drive. They had, however, ended up in the middle of some highway on the way over. The last motel was maybe 80 miles behind them and they had no way of telling when the next would be. They could, if their phones had any reception. Rather than drive the 80 miles back with both of them struggling to keep their eyes open, they both agreed to sleep at home for the night. Right in Baby’s arms.

She didn’t offer the most comfortable of positions but she was the safest. Not because she was easily recognised by almost every demon and angel that had even heard of the Winchesters and their black Impala. Safe in a way that Dean never woke up afraid when he was with her. She was his one constant, even when Sammy left for college, when both of them had no home to come back to, Baby was there. She always would be. That's why he fell asleep easier with her too.

This time when he closed his eyes, something very different was on the other side. He knew this place. He dreamt of it fairly often. It was the inner circle and starting point of most of his nightmares.

Hell.

That smell that he continuously thought had gone forever, one of rotting flesh and burning organs, had set in again and so strong that Dean fought his urges to throw up whatever he had eaten. But this was Hell. Of course he hadn’t eaten. He’d be fighting off his urges to dry heave until the smell became the norm again. When this dream happened, he’d often wake with the smell still clinging to him and it’d take him a greasy burger and a day's drive with the window down to get rid of it.

Remembering that is what brought on the realisation that he was himself again. Not the Dean that belonged.. that _experienced_ hell in these dreams. He was post-purgatory and refreshened-memories Dean.

That was when a new horror set in his stomach. He couldn’t do Hell. Not like this. Not with whatever had been repressed pushed to the surface. What if he had a wall like Sam had been given? Granted his 40 years probably wasn’t quite as messed up as Sam's stint in the Cage had been. That was two pissed off Archangels with nothing better to do than tear Sam apart, put him back together, rinse and repeat till he could escape. Or till Death pulled his soul out.

What if something terrible did happen that he was fighting with himself to stay hidden. Or something that Cas had hidden from Dean to save him from himself. Either way, he wasn’t too excited to stick around and find out.

He fought feebly against the Dean's meatsuit, desperate to kickstart anything that may jump him into waking up. He couldn’t call out, couldn’t move. He wasn’t on his rack so it couldn’t have been early on in his vacation. He was in his holding cell. Naked and afraid. He was in the place Alistair kept him till he had a fresh batch of souls for him to carve up. Alistair called it the Red Room. The twisted version of Heaven’s green room. Somewhere for Dean to relive the previous days work, reflect on his methods and perfect them for the next group. Every now and then he’d leave him with a ‘challenge’. To find some new use for an old tool, or see if he could set a new Personal Best of how quickly a soul would give in and beg to swap places with them. Most of the souls that came through were very weak. Most didn’t care about the other souls at all so some had begged almost instantly to be taken off the rack. Alistair made sure to find the brightest souls to convert. Those always took the longest.

Alistair took his time giving Dean his challenges. He made them far enough apart that when Dean was given one, he knew it meant business and knew what would happen if he failed. They were few, and relatively far between which means the terror that built in anticipation of each one was at its highest before it finally came.

Without anything else to go on, this current dream could have taken place any time in a 10 year span. With escape or any form of resistance futile, yet again. Dean sat in his own body, huddled in the back of the room, knees pressed to his chest and forehead pressing into them. If he was going to wait for Alistair to return, he better start trying to figure out which point he was at in case a new challenge awaited him. Dean followed as his body began rocking bath and forth, not like this was anything to go off, but at least it was some form of movement.

What he didn’t remember was a deep, low rumbling of the dampened ground below him. 30 plus years and not once did he experience anything similar to an earthquake. As the rumbling grew stronger and heavier, so did that same glow around his peripheral. That had to mean only one thing.

_Cas._

As if on queue, the heavy bars of his cell burst open. The demon, still with his hand on the latch had been burned to a cinder. What stood above it was a man in a trench coat, surrounded by a bright glow, so very out of place in the dank, dark halls of Hell. The glow emphasised the expanse of black wings, held out proudly in a, seemingly, dominating display. Dean jumped to his feet and pressed himself back against the stone wall behind him. His arms and fingers stretched out, searching for something, anything to grab on to for when this thing would attack him.

He wouldn’t though. Dean knew he wouldn’t. Both the Dean from Hell and one one that filled him. The light gave off a warmth. Not the heat that came from the fire pits or the burning from the brand's Dean was so used to wielding. This warmth began in the pit of his gut that had been so empty for god knows how many years. It filled him with a long abandoned hope and a renewed will to fight. This man, this light, without saying anything, had proven to be on his side.

It must have been something in his eyes. Those piercing blue eyes, filled with a glow that radiated power but not the kind he had become accustomed to from Alistair. These eyes spoke in volumes. There was power behind them, yes, but something else as well. Something elusive and ethereal. Dean had seen them before. Not the Dean clinging desperately to a wall, the Dean that wore him and he knew this was his Cas. Not a soldier of Heaven, not accomplice to the King of Hell, not driven mad by the strength of leviathans. This was Cas, on his own, rescuing the Righteous Man, as Dean would soon learn.

The Dean of hell and the Dean inside, had always been, and will always be a skeptic. Nothing truly good ever happened, especially not in his experience. How did Hell Dean know this wasn’t another of Alistair's ploys. Let him try and escape before putting him back on the rack.

This whole scene was new to both Deans. Though it couldn’t have been. Cas must have erased this. Erased the whole thing and not left a trace. He let it unfold. Eager to see why this moment needed erasing. Off of trembling lips, Dean let himself speak.  
“What are you?”  
The man merely stood in silence. The smallest of smiles becoming visible across his chapped hips. Unable to read any intentions from the stranger in a trench coat, Dean moved closer towards him. He was already dead, what harm could dying again do to him?

He reached out and held his fingers towards the wings, not entirely sure of his motivation or intentions. He seemed to be as confused as the Dean inside. He reached for a feather in the middle, only his fingers passed through, and the light faded only slightly before Dean pulled back and it returned to its full glow. Who he would learn to be Castiel kept his strong and determined stance, face unreadable to the Dean from Hell, The Dean inside knowing better. He stepped back before the man began to move towards him. Clearly there wasn’t much time. He wanted to take Dean away and he needed to agree to it. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew. Perhaps it wasn’t speaking so much as pushing its intentions into Dean's head. Either way it was pushing him to leave. Castiel parted his lips and spoke in that ever familiar tone,  
“I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean. And I am here to take you home.”

What he said and what he was asking were two separate things. It was asking Dean a question, one Dean couldn’t fully understand. With time as short as it was and Dean desperate to take any chance he could to get out of Alistair's Red Room, he caught his breath and let his answer fall out.

“Yes.”

Castiel’s face immediately softened. He raised a hand and placed it softly on Dean's left shoulder, the gentle touch on his skin a foreign feeling after 30 years of having it torn from the muscle.

The man before him flapped his wings before stretching them forward and wrapping them around Dean. All at once, he then faded back to a white light that rushed towards him and poured itself down his throat. Dean drank deep and allowed himself to be filled with it. The new Dean was paralysed with fear and with confusion. Cas had gotten him to say ‘yes’. Something Michael had failed at for a year, even when he offered safety for him and his family, promised him almost anything in the world, Dean still said no to him. He’d never want an angel controlling him. He’d never want anything controlling him. But Cas had completely bypassed all that. With barely a sentence, he’d earned Dean's trust which, in itself was a fragile thing that was extremely hard to come by. As Dean felt, what he now knew as Cas’s grace, fill every vein and every nerve in his body, he relaxed back and let the Angel feel his new vessel.

Dean's body moved again, and again it wasn’t of his own will. It was different than knowing the role you were to play and having to follow it unconsciously. This was another being moving it for you with their intentions pouring throughout your insides. _This_ was what possession felt like.

\--------------------------------------------

Dean woke to Sam's laughter and bolted upright. He tore the plastic spoon from his mouth and gathered his bearings unnecessarily, knowing full well he was draped across Baby’s front seat. He curled his lips up on a smile,  
“Well done Sammy, you finally got me back. You know this means our truce is void now?” Sam’s laughter began to die off as he caught the playful danger in his brother's eye. Their prank wars always ended badly. Someone would end up naked outside the Impala, someone would be peeling glue from their skin for the next few days or someone would be covering over a shaved spot in the back of their hair till it grew back. It was a way to stop from murdering each other after being on the road for so long. Though it also encouraged it.

“Looks like I’ll have to step my game up then.” Sam gave a wide smile, the kind Dean always returned as he was genuinely glad to see his little brother happy. Even if it was with something so trivial.  
“You can try.” He pegged the spoon back at his brother who dodged behind the driver's seat in an attempt to dodge it. “Are we heading off? I’m starving.”  
“Yeah me too. I was up when another car drove past. I asked how far away the nearest town was. Apparently it’s only a few miles, 20 at most. Looks like we could have kept going last night.”

Even if they could have, Dean wouldn’t trade last night in the Impala for anything. He needed her comfort, especially after what he’d seen. There’s no way he could have made all that up. Surely. He needed to talk to Cas. Find out what the hell was going on and if he was likely to get any other surprises. He knew at least one more was coming. He’d said ‘yes’ to Cas. He’d remembered it now.

But a simple ‘yes’ didn’t leave a brand on a vessel.

\---------------------------------------------

When Cas called Dean the next day, he froze. He stared at the display on his phone, unmoving, till it rang out. Sam had been on his way back from speaking to a group of locals, something Dean was supposed to be doing with him before his phone went off. Before Sam noticed Dean with a blank look on his face. He heard the familiar tone of a new voicemail in Dean's inbox.

“Who was that? Why didn’t you answer it?”

“It was Cas.” But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a reason not to be talking to him. That wasn’t entirely true. There was one. One big reason that loomed over Dean's head everywhere he went but surely that was only more of a reason to want to speak to him. Not to avoid him entirely. He looked up from the phones now darkened display to meet the utter confusion clear across his brothers face.  
“And? Why didn’t you answer?” Dean grabbed at the first excuse he could think of.  
“I didn’t get it out of my pocket fast enough. By the time I looked at who was calling it rang out.” It was weak. So very weak and he knew it. He felt Sam’s ‘I call bullshit’ before he spat out the weak excuse. When he finally brought himself to meet it, Sam was switching from that expression, back to confusion. Or some combination of both.  
“So… Why aren’t you calling him back?”

This one Dean didn’t have an answer for. Even a fake one. They’d been on the phone so much while Cas was away it was hard to believe something had changed in one phone call. Sam was usually around for them as well, he’d have known if he heard yelling Or Dean’s typical passive aggression. Sam would know before Dean if he’d done something to piss Cas off but Cas was the one calling Dean. Cas must have done something to piss Dean off.  
“Did he say something? Have you seen him in the last few weeks or only spoken to him?”  
“I haven’t seen him.” He knew Sam wanted more, but that was something he couldn’t offer. He didn’t want to burden Sam with something that could all be residual crazy from Purgatory, from Hell and God knows what else they’ve faced over the years. Maybe it had all caught up with him and he’d finally snapped.

Sam knew getting a straight answer would be like speaking to a brick wall. Only he could typically get more from a wall. Thankfully, the angel had clearly given the next best a try. Sam’s phone was ringing and, upon checking the display, it was Cas. Sam kept his eyes locked on Dean as he answered, almost immediately.  
“Hey Castiel.” Sam paused, enough to let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah he’s fine. He’s right here.” Another pause. Dean found himself dreading this call more and more and he wasn’t even the one in it. “He said he didn’t get to it in time. He’s fine, Cas. Did you want to speak to him?”

Dean froze. The terror in his eyes apparently visible across his features as his brother quickly took back the invitation.  
“Actually sorry, he’s a little busy. Was it important? I could tell him?” Dean dreaded each pause and they seemed to become longer and longer. “He’s talking to the local Sheriff. I think he’s finally getting some answers and I don't want to - Cas, what is it? Are you in trouble?” Dean stared at the phone in his brother's hand as if it was going to give him some visual link to Cas. He can’t be in danger. Not again.

“Ok sure. Yeah Cas, that’s fine. I’ll let him know.” Sam brought the phone from his ear to disconnect the call and return the phone to the pocket in his jacket. Dean arched an eyebrow.  
“Let me know what.” Sam smiled again, looking out past him and to the group of locals that were now leaving.  
“Who said he was talking about you?”  
Dean sighed heavily and dropped his shoulders in exaggeration. He turned to head back to the car, in no mood to put up with one of Sam’s lectures. By his smile, he could tell that Cas wasn’t in any immediate danger. Anything else would have to wait.

Sam followed behind him, calling out in a teasing voice to try and get his brother to calm down. By the time he caught up to him at the Impala, Dean had decided he didn’t care. _He didn’t have the luxury._

Before Sam could even open his mouth, Dean turned to face him.  
“You know what? I don’t care. You two can have your little girl scout meetings all you like. I’m going to find this thing that's been killing people like we came here to do. You remember that? People dying and organs all MIA?” Sam’s expression had kept its humoured and caring curiosity. He’d tease Dean till the end of the world. Even had a few times, but he was still his brother and he’d still try and take care of him.  
“I know, Dean. Cas just wanted to say he thinks he’s finished and he wants to see us. He think’s he’s ready to go back to Heaven.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into where this runs more or less parallel to the canon so there'll be a fair amount of quote stealing and similar, if not exact following of episodes. Disclaimer that I don't own any characters, quotes, etc, I'm just tweaking them and writing their arc a little differently.

That night, they returned to their motel in the outskirts of Pontiac, Illinois, the irony not at all lost on Dean. He’d been deep in an internal debate for most of the day about what the hell he was going to say to Cas. Should he tell him he’s remembering things, things he couldn’t possibly have remembered or made up? Tell Cas that he’d jump started a whole mess of memories and that, frankly, he’s a little scared. What if they were taken from him for a reason. Was Cas the one that had taken them in the first place? He had so many questions, he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Or maybe he just shouldn’t tell Cas at all. He’d have enough on his plate worrying about what would happen to him when he went back upstairs. Would the other Angels want to kill him on site? Had Cas heard anything on Angel Radio that gave him any indication of how dead he would be on his return? Dean had no idea where to begin, what to ask, what not to ask. Hopefully Sam could take the lead on the Heaven stuff and Dean could feel out if Cas was ready for the other stuff.

They’d sat at a small, round table in the kitchen section of the motel room where Sam had just finished one of his signature salad shakes. Dean couldn’t completely comprehend the idiocy of whatever marketing ‘genius’ had come up with them but, admittedly, it did work sometimes with how often they were on the road. Though he doubted many other people would be driving between states hunting things as often as they did. Not without a grease or microwaveable diet like most hunters. Surely Sam was the only ‘Salad Shake’ customer in the better half of America.

Dean on the other hand had lost any appetite that would usually be worked up from all the legwork they’d done today. By now, he’d be elbows deep in a burger and fries with a healthy slice of pie eyeballing him for afterwards. Somehow, he just didn’t have the stomach for it. The dreams over the last few weeks had left an unsettled feeling in the pit of his gut and now, with Cas just about done with his clean up and ready to pop in any moment, Dean couldn’t bring himself to even finish the beer beginning to warm at the bottom of the bottle.

Of course Sam had noticed, hovering giraffe that he was. The last time Dean rejected any kind of food was when Famine was around sucking down souls and he was the only one in town without an overpowering hunger. Naturally Sam would find it somewhat concerning and understandably so. He’d think it was the dawn of some great big bad, with power up there with the likes of a Horseman. It was going to be a bit harder, Dean thought, to convince Sam he just ‘wasn’t hungry’.

Thankfully, Sam barely had the question out of his mouth before Dean heard the familiar ruffle of feathers behind him. Feathers he could now describe with worrying accuracy when he shouldn’t be able to see them at all. He saw Sam lift his head and give a short smile, flicking his eyes between Dean and the Angel behind him. The longer he could put this off, the better. Sam put his salad down on the table, brought the feeble standard diner issue napkin to his mouth and stood to greet the Angel. Dean stared into the bottom of his beer, searching for a last minute answer of what path he should take.

“Hey Cas! It’s good to see you. How’d uh.. how’d everything go?” Sam crossed the kitchen, clearly attempting to comfort Cas on what would have been a rough few weeks. Maybe Dean shouldn’t bring it up now. He must be exhausted. Cas sighed.  
“It was.. difficult. I was well aware of the damage I’d caused but seeing the aftermath of it -” He cut himself off, no other questions would be needed, it seemed. Not on that topic anyway. “That isn’t your concern though. I’ve repaired what I could. How is your hunt? Do you know what's been dismembering people and harvesting their organs?”

Dean gulped the rest of his beer, wincing and baring his teeth at how flat and warm he’d let it become. He’d take whatever he could get at the moment and breaking out the whiskey too early in the conversation may raise some questions. Sam’s silence could only mean he was waiting for Dean to answer. He set the empty bottle back on the table and pushed his chair back, finally rising to his feet on legs that felt too weak. He turned to face the others in the room.  
“Well so far no one's seen anything grizzly and the Sheriff - Woah!”

He stepped back and caught himself on the edge of the small, rounded table, almost knocking it over entirely. Cas and Sam immediately brought their guards up, thinking maybe whatever they’d been hunting had finally caught their scent. After a quick glance around the room and a check between them, the two turned back to Dean, still with a panicked look in his eyes and knuckles white under the grip on the table.  
“Dean? What is it?” Sam asked with growing concern as Cas hesitantly took a step towards him, a worry painted in every feature on his face.

It was just like the Barn. Just like Pennsylvania. With the horrible pink beds and the ugly roses on the walls. The same sense of paralysing awe overtook him as Cas moved towards him and his wings, his giant, black wings, passed through the bed by his side and lightly dragged on the floor behind him.

They were here. They .. His wings?! How could Dean see them? What the hell was happening? He’d figured out pretty quickly that Sam mustn't be able to see them. He would have said something the moment he set eyes on Cas and he wouldn’t look so confused now. With Cas inching towards Dean, one wing passed softly through Sam’s shoulder and he didn’t even notice. Cas wouldn’t know either. How could he be seeing them?

Dean pressed his eyes tightly together. A human can’t see an Angel’s true form. It’ll burn their eyes out. Dean felt his chest rise and fall in heavy breaths. His pulse pounding in his ears and his heart trying to make a jump through his ribs, waiting for the light that would burn out his eyes but nothing came. He’d seen them already. If his eyes were going to burn they’d have done it by now.

He opened them, somewhat hesitantly, and was met with the same confusion on the faces in front of him. Sam looking like he may lunge towards Dean any moment, almost horrified at what could have caused this kind of reaction. After not eating and being somewhat ‘off’ for the last few days, he’d have every right to believe something was wrong. Cas on the other hand looked how he always did when he was lacking of understanding. His head was cocked slightly to the side, eyes squinting as if it would make the image in front of him any clearer. He had one arm beginning to stretch out towards Dean. Whether it was to comfort him, heal him, or zap him somewhere far, far, away, Dean had no idea.

“Dean?” Sam asked again with an upward inflection. “What is it? Are you OK?”

_No._

“Yeah, I’m fine I just..” _Think Dean, Think_.. “I stood up too fast. With no food in here the alcohol goes right to my head, you know? I’m just gonna .. Yeah.” He pulled his chair out behind him and dropped unceremoniously into it. Leaning back and dropping his head to eye the ceiling, he took a deep breath in and heard the almost silent footsteps move towards him.  
“I can fix it. If you’d like. I could take the effects of the alcohol and -”  
“No! I mean, thanks Cas but it’ll pass. It’s already fine, almost.” He straightened up immediately, catching a close up of Cas and the slightly transparent wings behind him. He’d have to make his staring subtle. If Cas knew, he’d have all sorts of questions and Sam, God, he couldn’t even think of what he’d say to him. Either way he needed the focus to be shifted off and away from him.

“So, Cas you're heading upstairs? Have you heard anything on Angel Radio or are you going in blind?”  
Cas sighed again, clearly upset by Dean and his usual less-than-forthright approach to his own misgivings.  
“I couldn’t say. I turned it off” Sam, relaxing back seeing that his brother was apparently fine, or playing fine at least, leant against the wooden divider that separated the kitchen from the, what could loosely be called, a bedroom. Taking the hint for a topic change, he chimed in.  
“You can do that?”  
“It’s a simple matter of blocking out certain subsonic frequencies. I could draw you a diagram -”  
“No that’s.. We’re good.” Dean forced a smile. “What’s the plan then? You have any idea what it’s like up there?”  
Cas’s features dropped and he sat on the edge of the bed behind him, the long feathers at the end of his wings sinking through the mattress. Dean cleared his throat and looked back to Cas. He clearly wasn’t looking forward to going back to Heaven. Not after everything he’d done. Dean didn’t know the specifics. He knew what had happened down here and if Heaven was anything worse than that.. He didn’t understand why Cas would want to go back.

“What I did.. When I was .. Bad. When I had all those things, the Leviathans, writhing inside me. I caused a lot of suffering on Earth. But I devastated heaven.” Cas looked at Dean with such an intensity that Dean, even momentarily forgot about his dreams, forgot about the black shadow of wings behind him and fell into Cas’s arctic blue eyes. Eye’s he’d fallen into so many times before and found himself lost just trying to describe the shade to himself. “I vaporised thousands of my own kind. For a long time.. I thought I couldn’t go back.”

Dean couldn’t stand the silence that sat between them, so he pressed on. Damnit if Cas didn’t want to talk, Dean was desperate for the distraction. He needed to help Cas in any way that he could. To do that, he needed to know the situation.  
“Because if you did, the Angels would have killed you?”  
Cas kept his eyes fixed on Deans, as if Dean would vanish if he turned away.  
“Because if I saw what Heaven had become, what I’d.. What I’d made of it -” Cas’s eyes finally faltered. Dean recognised the he shame and disgrace in his eyes, having seen it so many times in the mirror himself. But not like this. Not on this level. Cas looked back to Dean, again in that silent plea for Dean not to leave him. “I was afraid I might have killed myself.”

Dean felt his heart tighten in his chest and the air escape from his lungs. He knew it had been bad. He thought he had, but not to this scale. He didn’t think that Castiel, Angel of the Lord and Guardian of the Winchesters would have ever felt a guilt like this. What angel in history would have even considered taking his own life because of his actions. Any action would have been a direct order from God and they’d have followed it willingly. He’d seen the conviction behind so many angels, ones that were dedicated to their mission and didn’t give a crap about who or what got in the way. Had angels even felt guilt before? Dean couldn’t bring himself to say something comforting even if he wanted to. The words had escaped him and he felt the hole they’d left in his chest. Cas’s eyes burned with a determination to hold back as much emotion as he could. Had he heard Dean and his thoughts about angels being heartless? God knows he’d said it enough over the years.

The silence spoke in volumes, between them and with Sam beside them. His younger brother, ever the understanding wordsmith that he was, managed to get even a few words to break the tension.  
“What changed?”  
Dean tried not to notice the ruffling of Cas’s feathers again. The long feathers were now hidden beneath the motels horrific leopard print bed sheets (that wonderfully complimented the leopard print wallpaper). All he could see was the small feathers that came together at the tips of the wings over Cas’s shoulders. The wings themselves spread out just slightly enough that it looked like they were re adjusting themselves. As if being caught halfway through a mattress was uncomfortable. Was it? Could Cas feel it? He couldn’t think like that now. He couldn’t be focused on Cas’s very obvious and present wings. Not without a certain conversation that he was very much procrastinating from.

Before Dean could tear his eyes fully from the black feathers over his shoulders, Cas stood and turned from the boys, hiding his face but giving Dean a perfect view of his wings. Dean tried to look away, he really did but he’d never seen anything like it. He’d seen giant suicidal teddy bears, he’d seen fairies, Paris Hilton, Gods, demigods and seals and just about every monster under the sun but he’d never seen anything this … He couldn’t even find a word. All the words the came to mind would be something his brother would say. Beautiful. Elegant. He was hypnotised by their expanse and, yes, their beauty. With Cas now having his back turned, he was free to look at the long feathers that dragged along the ground behind him. That was interesting. If they dragged, they must somehow be on this side of whatever plane of existence they hovered in. More questions for later, Dean guessed.

Having felt he was at a safe distance, Cas finally spoke again.  
“I’m not sure. Almost three weeks ago, a few days after I’d returned from purgatory I .. felt.. something. It’s very difficult to explain, neither of you have ever been beings of celestial intent. To be an angel, there is nothing inside but the loyalty to our Father. They.. We are empty.” Dean rose, leaning back against the table and holding on again, though not quite as tightly this time. Cas turned to face them, some of the tension visibly melting from his vessel and, Dean thought he could see, from his wings as well. “Having the Winchesters as my charges.. Was possibly the best thing that could have happened to me.” Dean could hear the soft smile curl his chapped lips and his feathers, again ruffled slightly behind him. Dean noted it again. Did wings respond on their own or was Cas doing this on purpose? It’s not like he had anything to hide. It’s not like anyone was supposed to be able to see it.

“Any other angel, if given free will..” He struggled to find the words, before seemingly picking out a set of pre-rehearsed ones they rolled from his tongue easily. “If an angel is told that they’re to have free will, they will ask what to do with it. They’re soldiers. They weren’t built for freedom, they were built to follow. Empty and awaiting orders. Without God to give it to them, or Raphael to corrupt them, most of them are simply lost.

“I, fortunately, had you to show me a path. One to help people and stop the Apocalypse and -” He trailed off, smiling to himself and, perhaps, recalling simpler times. He turned back to Dean and continued, “With you I have a new strength. I can go back to Heaven. I can fix what I did. And I can make it better.”

Dean allowed a moment for the words to sink in. ‘Make it better’. He wanted to stay? In Heaven?

“Cas, you mean you want to -”  
“The angels need guidance, Dean. They will always need guidance. I thought during the war that teaching the concept of free will to Angels was similar to teaching poetry to fish. That was under Raphael's encouragement. With him gone, I think they can be shown the correct path, as you have shown me.”

Dean pushed himself from the table. Cas can’t honestly expect this to go the way he wants. Cas, always with his best intentions and always too much heart, was sure to get himself trampled yet again. He had to keep forcing himself to look at Cas and not the ruffled feathers behind him. Though looking him in the eye was just as hard.  
“Cas, I get that you want to help. I do. But isn’t there -” Dean needed him to stay here. To stay with him. How could he put this without sounding like a teenage girl? “- Isn’t there someone else that can lead them?”

Cas’s face fell and Dean caught the slightest glimpse of his wings drop slightly behind him. Fighting to keep them in his peripheral, he turned to his brother and was met with concern and confusion. Surely Sam knew that staying in Heaven was a bad idea for Cas. Sam was the smart one. If Dean could work it out, Sam must have already come to the same conclusion.

Instead he was given a weary eyebrow and Sam straightening his posture against the divider. Clearly trying to reach the same wavelength as Dean, he parted his lips to contribute but was cut off by Cas in a small voice.  
“You think I’m not capable.”  
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

Dean had his work cut out for him. How could he explain that he merely wanted Cas to stay with them. Again they’d finally almost had each other and again Cas was going to run off. It was building a fire in the depths of Dean’s gut and he was getting damn tired of being left behind. “I didn’t say that. I just .. Don't you think those winged dicks might have something to say about you popping back home before they start taking orders from you?”  
“Dean has a point, Cas. Maybe you should turn the Angel Radio back on and see if they.. I don't know, plan on killing you on sight? For instance.”

“It’s possible. It may even be very likely. I slaughtered thousands. They won’t disregard it. If they see it appropriate to have me killed then so be it.” Dean had turned back from Sam and couldn’t help but dart his eyes between the feathers and Cas, himself. Especially as Cas was now looking away and wouldn’t catch him in the act. “I need to do penance and take responsibility for my actions. I didn’t deserve to be brought out of Purgatory but now that I am I need to continue on that road. Making things right. I can explain to them that my lead will create a better Heaven, if given the opportunity. Perhaps while I am there, I can find what got me out.” Dean had heard enough.

“So your plan is to set yourself on fire and hope you don’t get burned. Real smart, Cas.” The angel cocked his head yet again in confusion.  
“Angels aren’t affected by fire, it wouldn’t burn unless it was holy oil, similar to what happened with Michael but that -”  
“Yes, thank you, Cas.” Dean emphatically rolled his eyes and turned away, making his way to the much needed whiskey on the countertop.

Watching Dean pour himself a hefty glass, Sam tried to interject. This conversation needed a mediator, as most did between Dean and Cas.  
“Look, we just don’t want you getting hurt. We’d rather not have you killed, if it can be avoided.” With the smallest of pauses, he added “We like having you around.”

Dean turned back rather swiftly, threatening the whiskey to slosh over the side of the glass. How had his brother just come out and said what Dean had been trying to say for years. He caught the tail end of the smile Sam had given Cas and took in a rather large gulp, appreciating the burn on the way down his throat. As he swallowed, he looked back to Cas and was again, caught in the fierce pull of his gaze. Cas was obviously expecting some sort of confirmation on Sam’s statement but upon seeing the look on Dean's face, one of hurt and confusion entirely aimed towards his brother, Cas’s smile faltered.  
“I like being here but there are things that need to be done. If there’s nothing more, I’ll be heading out immediately. There’s nothing else to be done here. I just wanted to see you in case I didn’t return.”

“Cas -” The name slipped out before Dean could filter it. He had to say something. This could be the last time he’d ever see him if he was going to do something as stupid as walk up to his own firing line and hope to not get shot. Cas looked at him expectantly and he could feel his brothers eyes on him as well. He had so much to say but nothing was coming out. So many questions, most of which he didn’t want to ask in front of Sam. Dean needed Cas to give him some answers if he was really about to walk voluntarily to his own death but no matter which question he pulled from the pile, none of them passed his lips. His fingers clutched tightly at the glass in his hand.

“You’ve been AWOL from Heaven for over a year. Almost two. They could have someone by now. They must have been doing something while you weren’t there? I haven’t seen any angels in - Sam? Did you see any while we were gone?” Dean turned to his brother and reached out with an expression that begged his input. If Sam could convince him he shouldn’t go, surely that’d be enough. Sam stuttered out a reply in acknowledgement to Dean and determined that this new direction could get him to stay, even alive if not with with them.  
“Yeah - No - I - No I hadn’t seen anything.”

Cas allowed a flicker of appreciation to show before hiding it away again.  
“Thank you Sam, but I know you weren’t exactly looking for them.”  
“They would have found me if they wanted to. I wasn’t hiding. Think about it Cas, If they had no guidance they’d be following their last orders, wouldn’t they? Or if they had none, they’d take out their biggest threat which is us. Or you. They at least would have had to notice that you were back, they’d have picked up on that in a second. What if they knew you were back but didn’t care because they had new orders? Someone else pointing them in the right direction?”

Dean looked back from Sam to Cas again. That was a damn good argument. If anything, Cas would have to explain that away. It also gave him hope that he wouldn’t be killed on sight. That was something, at least. He took another sip and awaited Cas’s response.

“That’s true. All the more reason to return. I have to see what has happened. I need to know -”

“You know what -” Dean’ eyes dropped to his glass. “Just go then.” He drank again, this time finishing off the glass and turning to placing it rather loudly on the counter behind him. He felt the exact moment Sam and Cas fixed their eyes on him and he just didn’t care anymore. Cas was going to leave anyway. It didn’t matter what was said, he was leaving. Again. For God knows how long.  
“Dean..”  
“You heard him, Sam. He’s going to go anyway. May as well get it over with.” He turned again, arms folded over his chest and fingers digging into his bicep. If this was going to be the last time he saw Cas, for good this time, better it be a clean break. Let him go so Dean can move on and hopefully forget about these dreams and the large black feathers, now coming in front of Cas and.. were they wrapping themselves around him? Cas was almost cocooned behind his wings and for the life of Dean, he couldn’t tell why. Why would he wrap himself? Did angels get cold? If he was, did the wings provide any actual warmth if they weren’t really here? He tore himself away, again. Desperate to focus on anything else.

“Dean, I will return when I can.. if I can, when you need me. And I’ll still hear your prayers.” The wings clutched at the trench coat tightly, not that Dean could admit he noticed. Instead, he’d grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured himself another glass.  
“I know, Cas.”

A bitter silence filled the air. Dean waited for Sam to break it, as he always did but nothing was said. With nothing spoken, Dean clearly heard the rustle of all too present wings and looked back to find Cas had gone. Dean exhaled, hoping the pain in his chest would follow it but it clung on tight. He took another sip, trying to fight one burn with another.  
“Dean,” Sam started, hesitantly, “he’s doing his best.”  
“His best would be avoiding those ass-hats all together.” He took another large gulp. “He’s better than they are.”

Dean moved from the counter and made his way across the small motel room, passing Sam like he wasn’t there. With his small bed in his sights, he toed off his shoes, careful not to spill the remaining liquid in his glass before downing the rest of it and collapsing back onto the pillows. He felt blindly, aiming to put the glass tumbler on his bedside table and set it down before readjusting his position and settling in for the night. He was all sorts of done with today. If he could just end it already, perhaps tomorrow would give him something to fight. Some monster to kill.

\----------------------------------------------------

Castiel touched down on a bed of lush grass, this slice of Heaven being all too familiar. It had once been his favourite, the eternal afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953. The large garden with edges decorated with bright flowers and perfectly maintained hedges. The open air and the almost motionless calm had soothed Castiel many times. He’d come here after Uriel was placed in charge of their orders and he was forced to step down. He’d come here after he’d saved Sam from the cage, only to find out later he hadn’t really saved him at all. And it was here where he vaporised most of his brothers.

He could still taste the metallic tang of blood in the air. This Heaven would never be the Utopia it had been once. The autistic man wouldn’t notice. He never noticed when Castiel or other angels came in. He wasn’t sure why he came here now. This had to be the worst piece of Heaven for him to arrive in. It had simply been a force of habit.

Soon after his arrival, he was followed by another angel. Her vessel donned a crisp grey and white pant suit and her hair was pulled neatly behind her in an auburn bun. He didn’t recognise her.  
“Hello Castiel.” She smiled at him as though they’d met hundreds of times before. He hadn’t so much as heard from another angel since before he’d gone to Purgatory. She reached out and gently placed a manicured hand on his shoulder, directing him to another Heaven.

This one he didn’t know and he didn’t like it. It was too bright, and small and confining. It was a small office with frosted windows, white lights and matching furniture with a silver steel finish and the whole room seemed far too clinical. She left him by the door and moved towards the back of the desk and lowered herself into the chair.  
“Where am I?” He asked, hesitantly.  
“You don’t know? You’re home, Castiel.” Her voice was soft, but firm. If he’d recognised her, he would have gone so far as to say she was comforting and genuinely happy to have him back.  
“Whose Heaven is this. I haven’t been here before.” He darted his eyes across the room but nothing stood out. It was bare except for a few choice furnishings. A simple lamp on a glass desktop opposite a neat pile of various papers and stationary, two white lounges in front of the desk and that was it. Clinical, white minimalism.  
“Not many have.” She gave a short smile before continuing. “My name is Naomi. We rescued you.”

Cas squinted, as if to see the angel better behind the vessel. Had this angel truly pulled him from - “Purgatory?”  
She clasped her hands together and rested them on the surface in front of her.  
“An incursion of angels which cost us many lives. Consider these chats your repayment.”

How many angels would die at the hands of Castiel. He’d wanted to stay in Purgatory. He deserved to stay there fighting for his life and doing penance for the destruction he’d caused. He’d never want to leave, especially at the cost of more of his brothers and sisters lives. Though, She’d pluralised ‘chats’. Were they to speak again in future? And often?  
“I don’t understand.”  
“Tell me about Sam and Dean.” Her previously soft tone turned sharp and demanding.  
The words passed through his lips before he could stop himself.  
“The prophet is being kept safe, the tablet has split in two and the Winchesters are tracking the missing piece. They’re currently in Pontiac, Illinois hunting a creature that’s devouring choice organs and leaving the remains to be found by local police.” He felt the words pour from him and no amount of effort could hold them back. When he had a control over his own words, he pushed again. “Why am I telling you any of this?”

“It’s not your concern. Help the Winchesters. Come when they call. You will report in to me regularly and you will never remember having done so.” She curled her lips in a smile that could have been easily mistaken as genuine. The longer Castiel was in this small room with this woman, the sicker he felt in his gut. She was giving him an order to spy on the Winchesters and relay his intel to an angel he didn’t know.  
“No. I won’t do that.” Her smile widened.  
“Now, You came to Heaven and saw that all was well. The Angels are working together to rebuild and move forward. They have received instruction from God to return to their posts and observe. No longer to interfere.” Castiel's face fell and a panic rose in his vessel. He hadn’t seen that. Yet he felt the false memory pushing inside him and taking root. “You’ll tell the Winchesters they have nothing to worry about. You learned this from an Angel named Nathaniel. However, you did learn that the Angel, Samandriel, has been missing. You decided to find him after you heard his distress call.”

She paused and gave her intentions very clear, this conversation was over.  
“As you were.”

With a soon forgotten wind under his wings, Castiel found himself back in the eternal Tuesday afternoon. Not quite remembering how he got there, he did remember his conversation with Nathaniel and how he’d smiled when he told Castiel of the angels purpose once again. Heaven didn’t need him. He was free to return to Sam and Dean. 


	4. Chapter 4

The, somewhat too quickly, ingested whiskey had allowed Dean to fall asleep a little easier than usual. Having nothing but the sinking feeling that Cas was going to be away a hell of a lot more often that he already was, of course that's if he didn't die altogether, was something that didn't sit right with him. He needed to talk to him about what the hell was happening. He needed to know if he was going to turn into what Sam had become when he’d gone all ‘Girl Interrupted’. The idea of being stowed in some institution like he’d done to Sam brought back a whole new wave of fear and guilt. 

 

He couldn’t just call Cas back though. He was finally going back to Heaven, for reasons that completely eluded Dean. Why he’d want anything to do with those feathered douchebags was beyond him. He’d never admit it to Sam, but he felt better when Cas was around. Profound bond or not, he felt safer when the angel was with him. Where he’d be safer too. 

 

This time when he slept it had felt different to the other dreams he’d had. They still had the glow around the edges, albeit a little stronger this time. Each of the dreams seemed to have something new about them. First with Cas’s wings, then in Pennsylvania with, well, still his wings, but how they reacted and a hidden defensiveness that Cas hadn’t shown before. Then there was Hell and everything about that one had been entirely new, more or less. It left a bubble of anxiety in Dean each time he realised he was dreaming. What new mystery would Dean unravel this time?

 

He could tell he was dreaming. His meatsuit wasn’t his own and his body felt foreign to him. He blinked harshly, trying to adjust to what was a blinding light in front of him. When it had finally faded, he was in a yard with fingers gripped tightly around .. a wooden pole? It was a rake. He moved with his meatsuit and began raking the pile of leaves below him. He knew this place too well. 

_ Lisa.. Ben.. _

 

He was in their home in Cicero, Indiana. Some mid-Autumn afternoon and he was cleaning up the backyard like the civilian he’d become. He’d lost Sammy, Cas had gone MIA. Bobby had barely said two words to him, just told him to find Lisa and try and have a life. So he did. He drove from Kansas to Indiana, across two states and through far too many bars. He could have made it in a day if he just drove but he could barely get behind Baby’s wheel. He was never sober enough. He’d try to find comfort in the bottom of a glass but nothing helped. He was surprised Lisa had even taken him in. He was grief stricken, drank far too much and was definitely not someone you’d want in your home, let alone around your son. She took him in though and gave what comfort she could. Even if it was just someone that would hold him when the nightmares took him. He didn’t deserve her. 

 

Why was he here though? These dreams had to have something to do with Cas. There was nothing spectacular about this moment. Only there was. And he had been blind to it. He felt Cas’s presence behind him. He let himself continue to rake the leaves, not paying attention to the growing pile at all. Instead, his attentions were shut out, listening for any movement or sound Cas would make. Cas couldn’t be here though. He wasn’t. Not then. Though if he’s dreaming this then he must have been. This couldn’t have been a memory that he’d shut out, could it? It had to be Cas and his typical ‘invisible girl’ routine. So why hadn’t he spoken to Dean?

 

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The only sign that time was actually moving was the pile of leaves becoming neater and neater at the end of his rake. He mindlessly allowed his body to work before hearing a voice. If he’d have any control over this Dean, he would have curled his fists in rage and hurled the damn rake behind him towards that pretentious English bastard.

“Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. It’s just not your day is it?”

“What are you doing here?”

 

Dean could hear the anger in Cas’s voice. So they weren’t best buddies yet. That was something at least. He fought weakly against his meatsuit, wanting to see Cas and Crowley but it was pointless. He was stuck in a vicious cycle of raking and domesticity. He had no other choice but to listen.

“I want to help you, help me, help ourselves.”

“Speak plain.”

“I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That’s all.”

He heard the hesitation in the pause Cas gave him. If this was how their plans had started, Dean took little comfort in knowing that Crowley came to Cas, not the other way around.

“You want to make a deal?” Another pause. “With me? I'm an angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell.”

 

As the Dean leant the rake against the tree, and moved to what was his last cleared area of leaves, he had to smile inwardly at Cas’s comment. Maybe Dean did rub off a little on the angel.

 

“That's it. Isn’t it? That’s all of it. The souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn't it?”

 

Dean returned to his spot by the tree and his new pile, ready to pick up and dump into the growing bag. As he head back, he caught a glimpse of the angel and the demon. The beginning to a bad joke and a somewhat civil conversation that, perhaps shouldn’t be happening in his suburban backyard. And once again, Cas was with his wings, though they seemed darker than they usually had. Perhaps it was the shadow of the trees or the house behind them. In the few times he’d seen them, he’d almost grown accustomed to them. He wondered, if he saw Cas again without them, would he look smaller? Would he look different? He followed his meatsuit back to packing the leaves.

 

“What in the hell are you talking about”

“I’m talking about Raphael's head on a pike. I'm talking about happy endings for all of us with all possible entendres intended. Come on. Just a chat.”

 

Ignoring the tedious task his meatsuit was carrying out, Dean continued to listen. It was all he could do.

 

“I have no interest in talking with you.” 

“Why not? I’m very interesting. Come on. Hear me out. 5 minutes. No obligations. I promise. I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

Dean continued shoving leaves into the filling white garbage bag. He could barely make out the dark wings and tan trench coat in his peripheral but he could see Cas's turning his head slightly to face Dean. This was it. This was the moment Cas had chosen a Demon over him. He couldn't make out his full expression, he could barely even see Cas but the face he couldn't make out wasn't a happy one. It wasn’t scheming or accepting of the demon in front of him, it seemed to be, almost, a longing. Like he wanted to interrupt Dean and ask his help but couldn't bring himself to do it. Dean could only return to his duties and note that Cas  _ didn't _ choose him. He watched Cas leave with Crowley but before he could continue with his task, he’d woken up.

  
  


\-------------------------------------------

 

A sliver of morning sun had breached the motel curtains, illuminating the hideous leopard print and burning the outside of Dean's eyelids. As he buried his face further in the pillow, he noted the white noise of a shower running in the adjacent bathroom. Of course Sam was up. If the sun was up, it could be guaranteed Sammy would at least be awake if not out for a morning jog. The thought alone made Dean reach for the this motel sheets and huddle them up in a cluster by his face. 

 

No sooner had he almost drifted back off again, the bundle of blankets blocking out the offending light, he'd heard an all too familiar rustling of wings. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off. He’d come back, but he couldn’t face him alone. He feigned his usual sleep status, half hoping Cas would come back when Sam was out of the bathroom. Mostly hoping he'd stay but at least announce his presence. After a silence that lasted a few moments too long, Dean knew Cas was watching him. Not just because he'd know the burn of that angelic stare anywhere, but because of a burn tingling up the side of his left shoulder. A burn that hadn't been present in years. 

 

“I've told you Cas,” he started, half mumbling into the sheets as he rolled over, hoping he was somewhat decent and wasn't left too inappropriately displayed from dragging the bedsheets up. “It's just creepy.”

 

Seemingly oblivious to the comment, Cas began as if he'd caught Dean from the passenger seat of the Impala or before a bite of a cheeseburger.

“Dean I need your help. The Angel Samandriel -” Dean thought to himself, vaguely remembering having heard the name before. “He's been taken.” Dean knew he'd heard that name. A too-long name with a face that didn't fit. 

“You mean Alfie, the wiener-on-a-stick kid?”

“Yes. I, uh – “ Cas cut off, suddenly unsure of his words before continuing “I heard his distress call this morning.”

 

“On what, angel radio? I thought you shut that down.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried to shake the sleep from his eyes. He may have woken up as Cas arrived but he was nothing without his morning coffee. 

“Well, my penance, it's going well, and with my return to heaven I thought it was time to turn it back on.” Cas darted his tongue between hips lips, a motion Dean shouldn’t have payed as much attention to as he did. Cas continued, a humble look crossed the smile creeping onto his face.

“I've uh.. Heaven is wonderful, Dean. The Angels - ”

Dean interrupted Cas, not all too keen to be hearing about Heaven. He was back pretty damn early though. Dean was under the impression he'd be gone for days, weeks even. Something must have happened for Cas to be back so soon. Not that Dean was complaining. It seemed very soon to be returning from something he'd be putting off for so long. Though he had a perfectly good reason. 

“Well, good for you. All right. So, who snatched Heaven's most adorable angel?” Dean's attempt at morning humour wasn't entirely lost on Cas. He paused briefly before continuing.

“Crowley.” That douche bag. Again. Would they ever have a break from that bastard to solve a simple case? Dean sighed.

“I'm listening.”

 

Before Cas had the opportunity to elaborate, the bathroom door opened, allowing the pent up steam to roll gracefully out onto the bedroom carpet. Sam exited wearing only his jeans and belt. He glanced quickly at Cas, a slight confusion raising a corner of his eyebrow. He gave his head a quick nod towards him as he head for the duffel on his bed for a clean shirt and deodorant.

“Hey Cas. Thought you were staying upstairs for a while?” Cas, paying absolutely no mind to Sam’s state of undress, continued with his plea for the Winchesters assistance. Dean took the opportunity of the interruption to drag himself from the bed and slip on some more appropriate pants over his briefs. He listened as Cas repeated the brief introduction followed by;

“Samandriel has been taken by Crowley. He's being held in the general vicinity of Hastings, Nebraska.” Dean huffed, clearly surprised that was all they had to go on.

 

“The general vicinity? That's all you got?”

Cas turned back to Dean, no sign of the usual worry or concern in his eyes. He was clearly determined to find Alfie, but he was still Cas’s brother. He'd thought for sure he'd read more than an almost blank slate. 

“Yes, which is why I need your help. It seems this is gonna involve -” he paused, selecting his words carefully. “ - talking to people.” 

 

Dean's lips curled up in a smile. Apparently the angel was always going to be ‘rusty’ with his ‘people skills’. He remembered back when he'd taken Cas with him to a police station in Maine and he'd started in on Angels and Demons to the local Deputy. Nearly blew their whole line of enquiry. He'd gotten a little better since then but definitely not as eloquent or charming as Dean, or better yet, Sammy could be. 

 

Sam, having donned a fresh shirt before pausing, wondering if he'd need to change into his blue suit instead, asked

“Do we know where to start?”

Dean sat on the small round table in the kitchen and opened his laptop before the sound of a gong blasted through the small speakers at the base. Written across the screen was “Busty Asian Beauties.” Dean immediately slammed the lid closed again. He turned, flicking his eyes between Cas and Sam. Cas having either not noticed or feigning ignorance, was looking quizzically around the room. Sam on the other hand was ready to rattle out a string of rants about the inappropriateness. Before he had the chance, Dean blurt out, 

 

“You saw nothing.” After checking that both Sam and Cas were looking away, he was free to open the laptop again before covering the screen with one hand as he closed the Internet tab with the other. Once he was sure neither of them was looking, or at least had the impression it was safe to continue, he moved both hands down to the keyboard, ready to type in the freshly restarted internet browser. He cleared his throat, signalling the coast was clear. 

 

“All right. What am I looking for?” He began typing ‘Nebraska News, Hastings’ into the search engine as Cas moved closer to the kitchen before hovering close behind Dean.

“Well, when you torture an angel, it screams. That kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents.”

 

Dean filtered through the top results. Links to the Lincoln Globe, local weather reports and an article about a cleanup after a big storm. It was possible. He clicked on the link and skimmed through an article with the header ‘Tornadoes, Strong Winds Cause Damage Across Nebraska.’ As he jumped through looking for any of the usual stand out words, a sudden realisation occurred to him. The dream from last night and the less-that-conventional wake up this morning had let it completely slip from his mind.

 

“Cas, you know we’re already on a case? Theres still something eating the better half of people and it's Thursday. Another organ donor is more than likely going to pop up tonight.” Without glancing over his shoulder, he kept his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. The storm seemed nothing out of the ordinary, as far as ‘their territory’ goes anyway, so he backtracked to the search engine and scrolled through the other headlines. Cas replied almost immediately,

 

“Of course. Give me a moment.” and then he was gone. Or Dean assumed that he was, if the sound of those wings were anything to go by. He turned, finding only Sammy left in the room and his suspicions were confirmed. They traded bewildered stares, Sam still half way through his duffel bag and Dean, still with a fingers on the keyboard in front of him. He’d barely thought about returning to his search before that same sound alerted them of Cas’s return.

“It was a vampire. One in alliance with an werewolf that was violently ill. They had a deal in which she would harvest the organs that seemed most supple in addition to the heart, not wanting the rest of the body to go to waste and the werewolf had his pick. Eating where he could. Whatever wasn’t consumed by the wolf was drained and disposed of by the vampire.” Dean and Sam glanced at each other again, unsure of whether to be thankful that the case is closed, annoyed that Cas had taken a hunt that Dean was clearly in need of, or just pissed that he didn’t fix it earlier and possibly saved a couple victims. “I’ve now disposed of both of them. Have you found any articles of import?”

 

Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue any of those points with Cas but found, ultimately that it didn’t matter. The town was safe, the monsters taken care of, and news of bigger fish had come in. He wouldn’t admit that it still didn’t sit right. Especially since Benny. Dean now knew there was typically more than one side of the story. He couldn’t think about that now, whatever was done was done, so he turned back to the laptop and scrolled through. Thanks to some minor tweaking from Sam with his new knowledge from Charlie, he found a police report from the previous afternoon.

 

“Uh. potentially.” He gestured towards the screen before he felt the looming presence of Cas over his left shoulder, leaning forward as if to get a better read of the report on the screen. As he approached, Dean watched as the long charcoal feathers of his right wing stretch out and behind Dean. After a quick glance over his right shoulder, again being careful as not to give away his new ‘ability’ to see them, he noted the way the edge of his wing curled slightly around him. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he turned back with the intention of distracting Cas, maybe startling him so he’d pull his feathers back. Though when he turned, Dean's gaze became trapped on Cas’s throat, running between right under his jaw and up under his ear. He swallowed, thickly, the long-healed handprint on his left shoulder beginning to burn again. The burn started soft, a mere reminder that it had ever been there in the first place. However, the longer Cas hovered over him and the longer Dean was stuck, staring up at his best friend next to him, the burn deepened. Like the brand was being left fresh upon his skin.

 

He’d only noticed when it had become unbearable, the pain suddenly too strong to keep hidden. He jumped out of his seat, pushing back and away from the table. Before he could react to the shock that Sam and Cas both wore completely across their faces, Dean, more out of reflex than anything else, pushed past the wing to get better space from Cas. 

 

The disbelief slowly sunk in. Cas had to realise it now as well. He’d pushed the wing out of his way.  _ Pushed _ it. Deliberately. He’d felt the soft, slender curl of the outside feathers and the strong bone beneath them. He stood, all too open and exposed, in the middle of the kitchen with nothing to protect himself but words. Sam having clearly noticed Dean's dramatic escape from the kitchen chair, asked gently.

“Dean…?”

He looked to his brother, all worried brow and slightly amused at Dean's desperate attempts to escape. Then he finally looked back to Cas who was now upright and facing him directly. When he’d shoved past his wing, he must have turned Cas somewhat away from the laptop and.. his  _ face _ . He hadn’t seen a horror on his face since that night he dragged him to the brothel. Yes, he’d noticed. And he was clearly mortified. Dean opened his mouth, hoping some excuse might fall past his lips but nothing came out. He turned to Sam again, a forced smile tugging uncomfortably at his cheeks.

 

“Felt my phone go off in my pocket. Sorry.” These lame excuses weren’t getting any better. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, catching Cas’s eye another time and holding it for a moment too long. Great. This ruined any chance Dean had of easing into this conversation. The look he gave Cas, before mindlessly flicking through his phone to look distracted, he shot a glare and a slight shake of the head, one he hoped Cas read as it was supposed to.  _ Not now _ .

 

Dean finally got to flicking through his phone. A message, in fact, had come up while he was sleeping and, having been on silent, wouldn't have alerted him till he saw it. It was Benny. An innocent check-in text as Dean had asked for every few days to make sure he was alright since the whole ‘Martin’ incident. Sam hadn’t been too happy about it. Especially since Dean let him sleep through the better part of it. It led to a nasty argument about Benny killing Martin, Dean explaining it was Martin's stupidity, Sam whining about Dean trusting a vampire. It took them both a long time to cool off. Eventually, all they could do was agree to disagree. Benny was in the wind (as far as Sam knew), and Martin was gone. They couldn’t do much about it now.

 

Cas, now attempting feebly to hide the horror and mayhem across his features, turned back to the laptop and continued to read the article. Dean watched him as he flicked an almost automatic reply to Benny. Cas was clearly now all too aware of his wings. They pressed tightly in at Cas’s sides and seemed to be trembling somewhat. He was scared. Dean's face fell. He was scared of Dean. He’d probably bail for good this time, after or maybe even before they really talk about it. The thought made his stomach boil and shrink away simultaneously.

 

“This uh.. this seems likely. This article says one man claims he heard a potted bush speak to him.” Sam let out an amused sigh.

“A bush? Isn’t that a little on the nose?” Cas turned back, flicking Dean a look on the way to Sam but otherwise, barely showing to notice he was there anymore. 

“No it’s quite literal. Angels have used shrubbery and foliage to communicate with those who have faith. It is a little flamboyant, but it certainly gets their attention, if we require it. Though it has only been used a handful of times since Moses. He was such a dramatist. Claimed it was God himself rather than an Angel of the Lord.” Dean remarked,

“Yeah, we all know how chatty God is.” The only acknowledgement Cas gave his comment was a small tilt of the head in his direction, not even enough to catch his eye. Cas must truly be pissed at Dean. Especially if he knows Dean has been hiding this for long enough to be comfortable seeing them.

“This man heard the bush in Geneva. I suggest we head there immediately.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

The visit to the hospital had provided answers that none of them particularly wanted to hear. Samandriel had indeed not only spoken through the bush, but had set in on fire as well. Castiel had told them it would have taken an incredible amount of pain for an angel to manifest through shrubbery unintentionally, let alone burn it. They needed to find Samandriel quickly before Crowley got tired of him and simply killed him. Without anything to narrow the search down any further, they collectively agreed to start at the bush and work their way out. Crowley could be subtle when he wanted to be, but torturing an angel would be something that took a great deal of effort to conceal. Angel warding being one of them. That, and with Cas’ handy ability to see through a demon’s meatsuit, they figure they’d start checking out local abandoned buildings.

 

Coasting around town and the outskirts in Baby, they finally reached their ninth abandoned building, a factory even, before Cas made out any demon faces. They’d surrounded the joint acting as homeless people and derelicts. If Crowley had this many hell monkeys outside, there had to be double inside. They were going to need more than the three of them and Ruby’s knife. They’d need something bigger.

 

Cats had barely said two words all day. He’d spoken to the man at the hospital with oddly specific questions, ones that caused Sam to look at him baffled. The drive then around town had proven almost silent as well. Cas was clearly pissed but determined to find the wayward Angel. After taking Baby back to their motel, they had Cas fly them out to Garth's safe houseboat, the Fizzles’ Folly in Warsaw, Missouri. Dean and Cas had shared, what could easily be called an uncomfortable exchange before making the trip. Dean had accidentally let a eye slip across Cas’ shoulders, admittedly a little scared. He’d never flown with Cas having actually been able to see his wings before. Would he experience it differently? Would he be able to see the entirely of Cas’s flight? Did Cas even ‘fly’? Or was it as instantaneous as it seemed?

 

He barely had time to consider asking Cas, even with Sam there, before Cas swept them up and delivered them inside Garth’s boat. It hadn’t seemed different than any other time. Though it was hard not to notice the strength of the beat in his wings upon landing. He seemed just as a bird would as they would stabilise himself when they finally touched down. He understood the basics of it. When Cas had sent him and Sammy back to save their mother from Anna, he’d told Sammy to ‘bend his knees’. He half meant it as a joke at the time, as he did with most things that would reveal themselves to be uncomfortable. He wouldn't have guessed how right he’d been.

 

Once they’d landed, Sam was taken aback immediately by the pages and images crowding the walls of the boat. Scribbles of symbols he couldn’t make out. More in some other languages he was vague on, at best. Pages of books with fragments highlighted were half buried in post-it notes with more symbols scribbled on it. Sam would be in Heaven if he could understand half the garbage pinned up. They’d appeared almost directly behind Kevin who was deep in concentration and hadn’t yet been made aware of their arrival.

 

With Sam distracted, Cas looked back to Dean with a growing concern and clearly conscious of Deans new vision that he shouldn’t have. As soon as they’d reached their destination, he’d moved away slightly, dropping his hand from Dean's shoulder, of course it had been his left again, and pressed his wings tightly by his sides in an attempt to hide them all together. Dean knew full well now wasn’t the time to fix anything so all he could do was push something forward that he hoped came off as a silent apology. Cas merely looked away, neither showing if he accepted or declined Deans offer. Unable to discuss it in their current setting, he announced their arrival to Kevin, still with his head down and scribbling notes from the tablet.

“Slow read?”

 

Kevin paused, as if he’d been alone too long or staring at the tablet long enough that he’d been driven somewhat insane by the silence. He slowly raised his head and turned back to face the three of them. He didn’t even smile. He was clearly sick of the rock in front of him so he replied monotonously,

“Slowest.”  


Dean threw a quick look around the room and, having not yet been tackled by his babysitter, came to the conclusion that he wasn’t there.

“Where's Garth?”

Kevin turned back to his work and looked over the notes, then the tablet, then his notes again and shrugged.

“Supply run? I don't know. Sort of lost track of when he comes and goes.” He turned around again to face them, clearly trying to get to the point of their visit in an effort to hurry it along. “You guys need help with something? I'm working here.”

 

After a brief interruption from Cas to note how horrible Kevin was looking, which wasn’t entirely untrue, Dean hesitated before asking him for anything. Kevin was clearly wiped, he’d been in here for weeks and he’d kicked his mother out so he could focus better. Dean had to admit, the kid was dedicated. He’d definitely owe him a vacation somewhere far, far away from here once this was all over with. Though when was this ever going to be over. Sure, they could shut the gates of hell, banish all demons from the face of the earth, but there was alway going to be something. With the demons gone, what would the angels be left to do? They’d never just rest back on their clouds with their harps like they're supposed to. One problem at a time though, first and foremost. Crowley.

“All right, well, buck up, 'cause, uh, we need some more of that demon TNT. ASAP.”

Kevin, again, turned back from his notes and shot Dean a calm, yet clearly angered look.

“You used it all?”

 

Dean swung his arms lightly around himself, trying to tangibly lift the tension from the room. Between Cas and himself, and the radiating bubble of stress coming from Kevin, the air had become thick. He looked back to Sam who gave a small shrug as encouragement, still mostly focused on Kevin's replica chicken scratches on the walls.

“Yeah, so let's whip up another batch.”

If possible, the suggestion at its simplicity only annoyed Kevin even further. He rattled off the first ingredients, having memorised them and done the spell many times before.

“Sure. West Bank witch hazel, skull of Egyptian calf, the tail of some random-ass newt that may or may not be extinct –”

“All right, all right, I get it – ingredients are hard to come by, huh?” Dean cut off, never having heard the actual recipe itself. He figured it couldn’t have been that hard. Kevin and his mother managed to scrape it together not too long ago.   
“That's just the first three.”

Dean turned to Sam, about to ask if they had any of what they’d need in Baby or stashed around with other hunters. The pickings would be slim but if they could just get enough to -  
“Give me the list. I'll get what we need.”

Dean was caught off guard by Cas’s offer. Of course Cas could get it. He’d hop from one side of the world to the other and pick, probably the finest of the bunch. The top shelf of mystic ingredients. Not like he had to pay for it. He caught his eye and smiled gently, another ‘thank you’ that couldn’t pass his lips. Kevin scrambled through his notes for a scrap of unmarked paper. He wrote out a fairly extensive list of items, some of which Dean had never heard of and handed it to Cas who was now, again, by Dean's side and so very close. Cas’s fingers wrapped around the paper as he took it. He took two steps back, clear of Dean, Kevin and even out of Sam’s way before excusing himself.

 

Dean couldn’t help but watch. This was the first time Dean had actually seen Cas preparing for flight and it felt strange to him, but all too natural at the same time. He’d become so accustomed to Cas with his wings, just slightly transparent and not quite there. Dean did catch the look Cas gave him before he’d even moved. It was small, Dean would have missed it altogether if he’d so much as blinked, but it spoke in volumes. It was sad. It said _please, don’t be afraid_. As if Dean would have anything to fear. It was angered. It was confused. Buried beneath it all was the smallest hint of pride. Cas was going to spread his wings for Dean, not at all for the first time, but now Dean was going to truly experience their expanse with both of them aware of it.

 

Cas raised them out and Dean caught a brief glimpse before he took off. They were charcoal, near as night rubbed across a canvas and Dean swore he saw a deep blue on the underside towards the tips. As soon as they’d spread, they’d flapped once and Cas was just _gone_. He’d seen him disappear countless times. Most of the time it left him empty and hollow, if even for a moment, but this one felt like Cas took a part of Dean with him. The breath was drawn from his lungs and he took a minute to catch it back again before turning back to Kevin and Sam, who was now cleaning out the refrigerator.

 

He watched, silently as Sam picked out old bags of leftover Chinese, burgers, kebabs and god knows what else. When was the last time this kid has anything to eat? He figured with the length of that list, or at least the colour of it, they had at least half an hour before Cas would be back and he knew of a diner down the road. He could grab Kevin something to keep him going. He even decided to drag Sam along to let him back to his studying. Dean grabbed the bag of old food with one hand, Sam’s jumper sleeve with the other and excused himself from Kevin before dragging both from the boat. Once they’d reached the deck, he let go of Sam and started heading to the pier.

“What was that about?” Sam snapped out before running his fingers, again, through his hair. Keeping in front, Dean led the way to the nearest bin for the bag of well expired foodstuffs.

“We’re going to grab Kevin some food. Kid can’t be focusing that hard without some microwave food and some pie in his system.”

As they reached a dumpster big enough to hold the garbage bag, Dean swung it up and let it crash loudly at the bottom.

“No Dean, I get that. I don’t get the stare-off between you and Cas before he left?”

 

Dean avoided eye contact with his brother at all costs. He turned back in a quick gesture of ‘keep up’ before he started up again, heading in the direction of the diner across the road. If Sam had begun to notice the weirdness between him and Cas, he’d never hear the end of it. It would be chick-flick fuel for months and there was no way in hell he’d be having any of that.

“I don’t know man, it's Cas. He’s probably still a couple of screws loose after Purgatory. When I got puked out it took me a few weeks to find my sea legs. We haven’t even seen him for half the time he’s been back he’d probably just .. I don’t know, readjusting?”

He didn’t know what he was saying till he said it but it sounded pretty convincing. Hopefully it was enough to keep Sam happy. For the time being anyway. At least until the moment he found out what the real issue was and there no doubt that eventually he’d have to know. What if Dean was stuck like this? Forever seeing the dark shadows of Cas’ wings.

 

Upon thinking about it, he’d come to realise something that hadn’t occurred to him. When he first saw them in the barn, the dream barn, not as actual shadows but the first time, they were much more transparent than they were now. Then, they were almost just dark outlines of grey smoke flowing from behind him. Today, as he’d prepared for flight, he could make out most of the feathers and, hell, he did swear he saw some dark blue in there. What if part of Dean's memories coming back was made tangible by Cas’s wings? He’d seen them in Hell so, technically, they were also part of his memory that would have been dragged to the surface with all the others.

 

Once this was over, they’d have a lot to talk about.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Upon their return, they’d found Cas already back and assisting Kevin with the spell. There was something in the bottom of a mortar and pestle that Kevin was sprinkling into a bigger bowl. There was some ball of God knows what that Cas was halving with a bonesaw. Then there was some collection of powders and leaves that Kevin rubbed between his palms before placing them in the bowl as well. Sam and Dean placed the various bags of food they’d gathered on the small table by the stairs and anything that needed it, was placed straight in the fridge and freezer. There was a small grocery store attached to the back of the diner and Sam suggested they’d pick up a few other things, even if was likely they wouldn’t get eaten. Just some essentials. A loaf of bread and a couple of spreads. A few bottles of water and soft drink. Sam, naturally, brought back a few handfuls of fruit which Dean immediately saw rotting at the bottom of the fridge in a few weeks time, but hey, at least the kid would have his options.

 

With the spell finished and the food packed away, all except for the hot lunch they’d brought back as a ‘thank you’, Sam and Dean helped load the final product into more manageable ‘TNT’ sticks. The four of them, mostly three but Kevin did throw in some input between mouthfuls, loaded the sticks and discussed the best means of infiltration. Without a doubt, there'd be angel warding. That almost went without saying. Cas had drawn out for them a symbol which would need to be removed or somehow compromised for him to be able to enter. There’d be one in each of the North, South, East and West corners of the building. After that he’d be free to come in and reign down some smiting.

 

It was after dark before they had everything ready. Of course it was dark. Just once Dean would like to chase Crowley into an abandoned building in the daytime. Cas had taken them back to Nebraska and back to Baby. Once they’d grabbed the basics, they loaded up and drove to the factory.

 

After going over the plan once more, Cas drew the Enochian symbol on Sam’s hand so they’d remember what it looked like. Dean didn’t say anything but a small part of him hoped Cas would have drawn it on his hand instead, if only to serve as a brief, physical break through the day long void between them. It didn’t matter really. As long as they had it and knew what they were looking for, that was the important part. Even still, there was a small flicker of something in his chest when he saw Cas reach for Sam’s hand instead of his own. It only turned harsher when Cas handed Sam his Angel Blade, saying it could also kill demons. Dean shoved that back down where it came from and took out Ruby’s knife. Ready to lead on and hopefully, finally stab Crowley in his stupid face. Suddenly having felt he was too quiet, Dean summarised their mission, purely for something to say.

“So we go in, take care of the hell mooks and you extract the angel?” Cas didn’t look towards him immediately. With downcast eyes, he spoke a soft,

“Yes.” before finally meeting his gaze with a sadness behind deep blue eyes. A blue Dean had seen earlier that day. “After killing so many, I need to save at least this one.”

They held each other's gaze for, perhaps, a moment too long but Dean knew exactly how Cas was feeling. He needed to save his brother and damned if Dean wasn’t sure that the little weiner-on-a-stick made it out in one piece.

 

Dean and Sam took out their first demon, securing keys they didn’t really need to get inside the building. They could have easily have picked the lock, taking the demon on duty out in the process was just a bonus. Upon entering, they traversed through the decrepit building, comparing the local graffiti to the one on Sam’s hand. Some was clearly here before Crowley and meant nothing. Others were obviously various sigils and symbols that Dean recognised, Sam knew a handful of them but they didn’t mean a whole lot. Once they’d spray painted a big black cross over the first one, they’d separated, heading in opposite directions in search of the next two.

 

The second hadn’t been too hard to find. Now that he knew what they looked like, Dean put a big cross over the second. The sounds of Alfie screaming somewhere inside the building was jarring, but kept Dean focused on the task at hand, which was what he needed. It was his brothers yell that threw him back off. He rushed back to where he saw Sam only a moment ago and arrived in time to see his with the angel blade buried deep in some demon's chest. As he approached, another came up behind Sam, oblivious to Dean entirely which allowed him to pull the demon off his brother and onto Ruby’s knife. Having only one more mark of ‘Cas proofing’ left to paint over, both the brothers head off in the direction of the fourth.

 

They’d barely made it a few hallways down before Alfie's cries started back up again. They needed to find Alfie and they needed to find him now. There was all kind of agony radiating and they still hadn’t pinpointed the source. Sam and Dean made it to a junction in the factory and heard a band of demons coming at them from opposing directions. With a synchronised nod, they each pulled out a stick and dragged it across the concrete floor, setting the tip alight like a flare. As each set of demons came down the hallway, intents focused on the fabled Winchester brothers and each of them sure they’d be the ones to finally kill the infamous pair, they’d just as instantly met their demise at the powerful blast of the ‘Demon TNT’, courtesy of Kevin.

 

If he wasn’t already aware of them, Crowley was sure to be now. Those explosions would have been heard miles in each direction. Down the hall, thankfully was the last symbol and by the sounds of it, Alfie was right behind it. With another cross of black spray paint, Dean put the call out to Cas that the coast was clear.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Having felt the lift of the final symbol, Castiel knew he was now able to enter the building. He spread his wings, ready to dive into the brothers location but hesitated. He’d hesitated more than he’d like to, of late. Now that, somehow, Dean was able to see his wings. Something that no human should be able to do. Not only could he see them, he could feel them. He’d pushed passed them in the motel room and Castiel had been taken aback by the contact of a hand on his wings. No other Angel had touched him like that. It was far too intimate a gesture to allow just anyone to touch them, or to touch another's. The contact had paralysed him momentarily, the shock of not only Dean’s reaction to touching them but Dean's lack of a reaction indicating he’d seen them before. He must have been able to see them for some time to grow accustomed to them. How long had he been capable?

 

He didn’t have time to dwell on the fact, as he’d almost immediately heard Dean's call.

 

_Alright, any time now, Cas._

 

Having spent most of the day planning their attack with Kevin, Castiel hadn’t been presented the opportunity to speak to Dean but it was something that would need doing. Just not now. With a strong beat of his wings, Castiel landed a few paces behind the brothers who were staring at the door between them and Samandriel. As soon as his vessel had touched the ground, he’d noted something was definitely wrong. He drew in deep and hurried breaths, leaning forward with the sensation that he was physically drained. There were still sigils through the warehouse. Sigils to weaken and damped the Grace of an Angel. Having drawn their attention, Castiel looked up to Dean, a worry painted plain across his face. Words failed to pass through his lips, so Sam stood forward and interjected.

“Cas? Hey! You okay?”

 

Castiel feebly glanced at the sigils on the walls, hoping the appropriate ones for weakening an Angel were within reach and could be easily dispersed of. Without any of them in sight, he chose not to go searching for the ones that could restore him. He needed to rescue Samandriel.

“It must be the sigils” He panted again, “I’m not at full power.” He planted his feet firmly, trying to find steady ground and, maybe, pull off the illusion he was capable of continuing. Dean looked up at the walls behind Castiel, clearly not knowing what any of them meant. Most of them were wrong anyway. Crowley’s demons had drawn them incorrectly, allowing Castiel to be here at all. Dean reached for the spray paint in his coat.

“Sam, help me muss this crud.” Castiel spoke immediately, hearing Samandriel again from the other side of the door.

“No, wait! There’s no time. Samandriel won't last much longer.”

If he could have, he’d have burst through the heavy factory door then and there but the Enochian Crowley had used was too strong. He watched helplessly as Dean tried the lock on the door, but to no avail. Sam approached him and returned his Angel Blade, saying something that Castiel never heard. Samandriel screamed again, and the fierce pitch caused Castiel to bring his hands to cover his ears. It was a pointless action. Samandriel’s screams were piercing both audibly and through the waves of ‘Angel Radio’. They buried further and further through Castiel’s vessel and into the very core of him until it unlocked something within. He saw flashes. A woman in a white room held a drill bit to his eye. He heard his own screams but felt nothing pass through his lips.

 

He stumbled backwards until hit something solid and slid down, the projections of a white room, a woman in a grey suit and a drill whirring blocking out much of the factory around him. Castiel watched in bursts as the brothers tried the door again, he sat crippled against the opposite wall. He heard the woman say;

 _‘Hold still’_ before the drill had plunged into the inner corner of his right eye. He felt the screams rise in his chest but nothing came out. Castiel leant against the wall, He caught flashes again of the brothers fiddling with the door, Dean yelling something out to him before finally beginning to charge and ram the door with their shoulders. It wasn’t until they’d finally burst through that Alfie's cries through the waves had almost silenced. They’d dimmed enough for Castiel to pull himself back to his feet.

The screams faded, as did the flashes of the woman in the white room. He followed the Winchesters through the door and left them to take care of the demons that attacked them. They’d be fine, he knew they would be, but his orders were to rescue Samandriel. That was what mattered.

No. Not orders, He’d heard Samandriel’s distress call on Angel Radio. Granted he’d forgotten when exactly he’d turned it back on but it was _his_ decision to find him. He hadn’t received orders in years. There had been no one to receive them from. God had commanded the angels keep watch and not interfere. Rescuing Samandriel had been Cas’s redemption. Saving one after slaughtering thousands. Shaking that thought from his head, putting it down to the disorientation caused by the sigils, he proceeded towards Samandriel and began removing the screws from the contraption on his head.

 

His brother was very weak. He’d been here for clearly far too long and Crowley had clearly been determined to pull information from the Angel. Though what he could possibly have information _on_ was beyond him. Castiel knew Samandriel and knew he wasn’t privy to some of the inner workings of Heaven. Though that had been before Purgatory.

 

Having removed the final screw, Castiel was drawn to its point coated in Angels blood. That’s when he saw the woman again. She’d had Castiel bound to a reclined chair in that white room again and was pressing the drill into his eye. He could feel the point of it forcing its way through his vessels flesh and bone. He could hear the struggle of the motor as it dug through the lacrimal bone by his eye. Once the room was dark again, he’d near forgotten the woman as soon as she’d appeared and continued to assist Samandriel. With the device removed from his brother's head, he cupped his cheeks in his hands, reassuring him and assessing him for further damage.

 

Upon hearing the demise of one of the demons, Castiel looked across to Dean who was standing over the demon that had tortured his brother. If he was a full strength, he’d ask Dean for the honours of smiting the filth himself but his orders.. No, his mission, the one he took on himself in penance, was to get Samandriel out alive. He barely needed Dean’s instruction to fly him back to the safety of the Impala awaiting them outside.

 

He carried Samandriel under his wing and gently rested him against the Impala door. Once he was assured that Dean and Sam were alright, he’d take him back to Heaven and help tend to his wounds. Castiel placed his hand on Samandriel’s shoulder and attempted to comfort his tortured brother.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m taking you home.” He immediately saw the fear and terror behind his vessel’s eyes. His voice was grainy and hoarse, and understandably so. He would have been screaming since he went missing.

“No!” He begged, “You can’t take me back there, Castiel!”

 

Castiel's face was undoubtedly painted with utter confusion. Heaven was the safest place for him. He’d be healed and protected from Crowley. He’d be safe?

“Why not?”

“You don’t understand. I told Crowley things - things he shouldn't have known. He got into our coding, our secrets - secrets I didn't even know we had!” Samandriel’s voice was coming out in ragged breaths. He’d won the battle against Crowley, he’d stated alive. But he was in a tougher fight. One desperate to have Cas help and understand what he’d done.

“What secrets?”

Samandriel spat out the words as if they were bitter in his mouth. Clearly wanting nothing to do with them, wanting to forget they were in there to begin with.

“Heaven? Naomi?”

The name rang familiar in the back of Castiel's mind. He’d heard this name but something was preventing the memory from returning to the surface. He didn’t know her.

“No. Who’s Naomi?”

“Who is -?!”

 

The battered angel looked behind him as if there was a third eye on the conversation. He seemed to be checking that there was no prying eyes before continuing.

“Listen to me. Listen to me closely. I've been there. I know! They're controlling us, Castiel!”

Castiel was now desperate for answers. He knew that something hadn’t been right since his return. Since his return to Heaven but had thought nothing of it. He’d gone so far as to push it from his mind but upon recollection, perhaps it had been pushed for him.

“What do you mean?”

 

Castiel blinked. A simple blink and somehow he’d gone from caring for Samandriel to pulling his Angel Blade from the brightly coloured work uniform of his vessel. He’d looked away for one brief moment and the realisation had struck him like a bolt of lightning. He’d killed Samandriel. But Why? He was answering Castiels questions and warning him about Heaven. He closed his eyes one more time and a flood of memories poured back in.

_Samandriel attacked him._

_He acted in self defence._

_Samandriel attacked him._

_He acted in self defence._

Castiel leant forward, holding his dead brother in his arms and trying to shield his remains from .. he wasn’t even sure anymore. He didn’t want to kill him, but he’d come at him. He had no choice. He heard the heavy footfall of what had to be Sam and Dean returning. He heard a question come from Sam but found he didn’t have the answer. After a moment that took too long to pass, he raised his head. The answer that came out was monotonous and not his own.

“He was compromised.” Castiel let go of his brother and rose to his feet. “He came at me. I killed him in self-defense.”

Through the dampened ears, and the muffled question from Sam, Dean’s voice broke through as it always did.  

“Cas, you okay?”

 

He hadn’t noticed. Blood began to trickle from the inner of his right eye. That was odd. He didn’t remember sustaining an injury. He wiped at it with the back of his hand. Again, the foreign voice passed his lips. He felt the words but he didn’t remember forging them.

“My vessel must have been damaged in the melee. I have to go. Samandriel's remains belong in Heaven.” He crouched back down to his brother and wrapped an arm around his bloodied shoulder. He’d heard, somewhere in the distance, Dean calling out to him again. It was rude to simply leave. For the first time since they’d reached the car,  Castiel felt himself create the words and forced them to be spoken.

 

“Thank you both... for everything you've done.”

He looked at their faces but couldn’t truly see. His vision was compromised. After all, he _was_ wounded defending himself from his brother. The only thing he could truly make out was the green in Dean’s eyes. Considering the poor lighting it was a wonder he was seeing it at all but it shone brightly. Cas didn’t wait for a response. He spread his wings as he had done countless times before and took his brother to rest, as were his orders.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The ride back to Rufus’ cabin had been painfully silent. Even with classic rock blaring through Baby’s speakers, both Dean and Sam knew they shouldn't discuss what the hell had happened back there. They made a silent agreement not to speak about it until they were back somewhere safe. Somewhere they were free to talk without Cas listening in.

 

As soon as they’d got back, They’d set to marking the cabin with the Enochian still on Sam’s hand. Using their phones as a compass, Dean figured and laughed bitterly to himself, there really _was_ an app for everything. He half considered looking through the App Store for something to help read Enochian, to fight monsters, to read ancient Word of God tablets. There’d probably even be _something_ there but Dean just didn’t care at the moment. Not after what they’d witnessed back at the factory.

 

Sam finished the final stroke of white along the scrappy wooden wall and turned back to Dean, assuring him that they’d be blocked from Cas’s eyes and ears. Dean, completely tired of the silence, wanted this out and and wanted answers, knowing full well his brother wouldn’t have them.

“Okay, what the hell?” Sam met his outburst with an equal reaction, albeit a little down pan compared to Deans.

“I know.”

“I told you something was off with him since he got back from Purgatory.” Dean could be all but shouting but it wouldn’t make a difference. He was bubbling from the pit of his gut. He was scared shitless that this could be another deal-with-Crowley thing. What if something was possessing him? What if Cas wasn’t even in there? Sam moved away from the sigil and head towards Dean. He’d seen his brother pull this move before. He was coming to comfort him without the actual words. He was moving in so Dean would feel he wouldn’t need to raise his voice. Recognising it made him all that angrier that he was even this affected by Cas in the first place. Not again. Sam spoke softer than Dean was able.

“So, what, you think someone's messing with him or something? Angels?”

Dean paused, if only for a moment.

“Why would the angels have him kill another angel?” Sam shrugged, knowing only as much as Dean did. Debating between each other wasn’t going to get them anywhere. They needed more. More information. More contacts even. Just more than what they had now which was a giant question mark hovering over their heads. Where would you even begin to look for something like this, whatever this was. Angel Hijacking? It was different to years ago when Cas was dragged from Jimmy and back to Heaven for the ultimate slap on the wrist. Then he was determined to let Dean know what side he was on and it wasn’t there’s. Though just now he’d looked vacant. Like someone else was driving. He moved towards Rufus collection of books on Angels, hoping something may turn up a clue.


	6. Chapter 6

They’d been searching for a fortnight but had absolutely nothing to show for it. Not on Angel Mind Melding or anything as remotely helpful as that anyway. They had loads of useless information. Things they knew, some things they didn’t but were in no way relevant to Cas and whatever show he’d put on for them back at the factory. The Men of Letters knew their stuff, that's for sure. Being the glorified librarians that they were. They had given them a whole new stack of material to read through. That was something at least.

 

Dean had his doubts when they’d first arrived. After double checking the coordinates, the well abandoned building seemed to be just exactly that. This place hadn’t been so much as looked at in the last, maybe 70 years. A part of him was happy to be back in Kansas. Ten years ago you couldn’t have paid him to get near Lawrence again. This hidey-hole was a comfortable three or four hour drive away so the home of a boy who wasn’t here anymore wasn’t exactly looming. It sat at a comfortable distance and reminded Dean what he’s been through to get here and to get here with Sammy. 

 

The moment they’d stepped through that heavy iron door they knew what they’d found. The old machines, seemingly dead to the world lined the walls and sat on a table in the centre of the giant room. This was their nerve centre. And it was beautiful. Once they’d found the lights, the entire room had lit up, as did their eyes like children in a candy shop. Filled bookshelves lined the walls, rare and common weapons were displayed between them, a giant desk ran through the centre where the Men must have done their research. Dean was gobsmacked.

“Sammy, I think we found the batcave.”

They’d even found beds for the night and Dean had called one of the larger of the uniform bedrooms they’d seen. Some had double beds, some single. Some with an adjoining rooms and some without. Without anyone to object, he could take whichever he liked. It felt strange going to sleep on a bed that could potentially be his but he was getting ahead of himself. That was a problem Morning Dean could look into. For now, he needed his usual four hours.

 

The first thing Dean had done in the morning was take a shower and slip into the deluxe softness of a robe hanging from the closet in his..  _ his _ room. He hadn’t used a ‘shower room’ since he was in school but that was completely different. Fifteen or so pubescent jocks making crack jokes about what the other had in his boxers or briefs. Sure, Dean was usually on the tormenting end of the torment, but he’d copped it just as well as he’d given it. It depended on the school. Some of the early ones he didn’t get in quick enough and was too busy being glued to Sammy’s side. They’d only ever stay in one a few weeks, maybe a month at a time so he never let anything really hit him hard. He just learned what to do for each new school he’d get to. Having the constant blank slate meant he could be whoever he wanted and towards the end of their school run, he was the one calling the shots that the other ‘cool kids’ were desperate to have a piece of. 

 

This place was better and better by the second and Dean could barely hold it in. It served as a wonderful and, for once, exciting distraction from Cas and whatever else was going bump in the night. Usually those distractions were beheadings or maulings or Crowley. This place was a gift. It could be a home. An honest to God  _ home _ . It was only fitting that Dean still be a little skeptical. He always was. He glanced through the books Sam had pulled out and was beginning to comb through. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, don't – don't get me wrong.” He began to trail off as a perfectly mounted scimitar caught his eye. He head immediately towards it, barely in control of his own body and lifted it from the stand. “This stuff is awesome, and it looks like they ran a real tight outfit here, but I'm just saying, you know, don't, uh, don't think that they knew some big secrets that we don't know.” He held the scimitar in front of him, poised and ready to slice at his opponent. He raised it above his head before catching Sam turn from the table out the corner of his eye and immediately lowered is again. 

 

Sam, somewhat upset at Dean’s cynicism, pointed out the obvious.

“Dean... they were a secret society.”

“Which means that they made crap up and wore fezzes and sashes and swung around scimitars.” He ran his finger up the blade in his hands, “They probably didn't even sharp–” cutting himself along the edge, “- That's very sharp.” Defeated, he returned the scimitar to its home on the stand.

 

Sam scoffed, his serious and pensive shoulders beginning to make an appearance.

“Dean, look, I think we might have something here – something that could help us, help humanity. Henry certainly thought so. I mean, you know damn well we could use a break. What if we finally got one? 

 

Truth is they were long overdue. They’d lost count of people they’d gotten killed.  Even cases they’d messed up. Benny did kill Martin and that wasn’t going to go away. Of course Dean knew Martin had done it to himself but he’d never be happy over another hunter's death. With all that and.. with Cas thrown in. His little meltdown and disappearing act wasn’t doing them any favours. Maybe they could have this one thing.  

 

“Are you gonna take off the dead-guy robe?” He wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. He had far too many things to explore and the robe made him feel all classy. With a sideways smirk he head further into the bunker, intent on finding more information on Angels.

  
  


\-------------------------------------

 

Weeks passed and the brothers had finally started adjusting to calling the bunker home. Dean moreso than Sam. Dean put out all his personal touches. The photo of him with their mother that would usually have stayed under his pillow was now comfortably propped under his lamp on his desk. He’d placed his precious vinyls, Led Zeppelin among with a few he’d found in the bunker in a safe place filed away next to their own player. He’d mounted guns on the wall above his bed along with a selection of other weapons. Some were his own, others he’d found in the bunker and they just looked awesome. His own room was finally his own room. There were no creepy smells. No funky motel stains. Even down the the memory foam mattress he struggled to drag down here a few days ago. The delivery guy wasn’t too happy delivering it to the side of the road a few streets away but it probably would have been a little more strange if it was in front of an old factory. Even then, he couldn’t let anyone get suspicious of their batcave. Anyone could be working for anyone and they all had eyes and ears everywhere. It was Baby that suffered hauling it the last few miles home. 

 

As perfect as his new room had been, he still felt empty. He thought if he made himself busy by decorating and ‘nesting’ then he’d have something at the end that made him feel complete but it just didn’t. If anything it made him feel worse. Of course, Dean was ecstatic about finally having his own room, something he hadn’t had since he was four but that little niggling in the back of his mind that something was still missing kept eating away at him. He tried to deny it. Tried to deny is was Cas and his absence that was digging into him. He hadn’t even dreamt about him in weeks. Maybe even a month. Dean wished he knew what it meant but until they found or heard from Cas, they were sitting ducks.

 

They’d gone on a few stray cases. That served as a small distraction at least. The first was another society Sam had discovered called the Judiah Initiative who were affiliated with the Men of Letters in the second World War. Sam was searching for remaining members and found that one had died only a few weeks before hand under less than normal circumstances. Well, to the casual observer, anyway. Spontaneous combustion shouldn’t be considered normal under any circumstances. Just the ones that require Sam and Dean's attention. 

 

That was when they ran into Aaron. Dean had thought Aaron would make a fantastic distraction, and could possibly be so much more than that. He’d had been doing the usual recon, chatting up the locals and trying to get any information that wasn’t exactly listed in the police reports. He was chatting to two women in a bar and admittedly, only vaguely cared about their Nazi Necromancer story. He’d made notes though and tried to look as professional as possible but when Aaron caught his eye, he’d lost his place. He’d looked up from his cocktail, given a small but genuine smile and a polite wave as if he hadn’t been clearly staring at Dean for the last five minutes at least. Dean tried to play it off. He really did, but he was frozen in that moment till Aaron looked away, breaking the eye contact that had been so strong between them. He tried to stay focused, kept talking to the girls and listening to their recount of the burning Rabbi but he didn’t feel he cared anymore. He was drawn to this scrawny man at the other end of the bar, drinking his fruity drink and making moon eyes at Dean. He’d seen him a few times earlier this morning doing the same thing. The first may have been a chance meeting between the eyes but now, after a continued performance, Dean knew he was being followed. 

 

Dean hurried his meeting with the witnesses and slipped away, headed straight in the direction of his stalker. Having been focused in the other direction, Aaron never saw him coming. Dean wondered if he knew that he was a Federal Agent. Or impersonating one at least. He’d hoped so actually. If he knew what he wasn’t they’d be having a much bigger problem. He leant against his table and pulled out his badge, making clear his intentions to end this game of cat and mouse.

“Special Agent Bolan.”

The man had been caught very much off guard. He leant forward, taking a closer look at Dean's badge that he dropped on the table in front of him before and leaning back in his chair, a wide smile crossing his face. “Oh wow, really? I thought you were like, a headhunter or something”

Without knowing his intentions, Dean kept his face blank but let the professional bravado of the agent out that he’d acted out countless times before.

“This is the second, maybe third time i'm seeing you today. Why are you following me, gingerbread?”

 

His eyes widened as he absently brought his hand to his face. He’d seemed nervous. If he’d been trailing Dean he’d have a reason. Those reasons were never good. Dean’s guard rose and prepared for any sudden movement he may take. 

“Oh, so we um.. heh...We didn't have a thing back there?”

 

Dean’s bottom lip quivered slightly. What? He felt the cucumber expression slip as the question he intended to ask failed to form. 

“Back where, what now?”

 

“I’m sorry man, I thought… I thought we had a thing back at the quad.” Dean watched as he nervously stated his intentions and Dean was left bewildered. He processed the interest with his mouth slightly agape and cautiously dropped a hand to the table, creeping his fingers over his badge and slowly sliding it back towards him. He continued “A little eye magic? A moment?”

 

He flicked a quick glance over his shoulder as the, now rambling man in front of him did his best to cover his embarrassment. “I saw you here, figure I’d wait till you were done with your meeting and then maybe we might.. I don't know.” Dean could salvage this. He hadn’t given a fake first name, just a last one. He could be Dean, if even for a little while. He hadn’t planned on getting some action, though he never usually did. The opportunity or the right guy or girl would usually approach him and he wouldn’t say no. He hadn’t even thought about it in a month or so what with Cas bailing and finding their new home and meeting their grandfather. 

 

Though he shouldn’t. Not now at least. They had this case and the immediate chemistry between them gave the impression of more than a one night stand. Perhaps he could look into this later when they’d solved the case of the Nazi Necromancers. He had to say no. Not an altogether no, just a  _ not right now _ .

“Yeah, OK. But no. Uh no moment. This is a Federal Investigation.” He kept his eyes downcast, hoping that the small blush creeping across his cheeks wasn’t so obvious.

“Is that supposed to make you less interesting?” Dean’s eyes shot back up to meet his. He’d known ‘Agent Bolan’ for all of three minutes. Add that to the, Dean admitted, eye flirting earlier in the day, he still thought Dean was interesting. Dean was taken aback. He’d definitely have to come back after this case and hope he still was interested. He could really use a break and someone to just connect with. No matter how girly that sounded. His silence and subtly shocked expression apparently hadn’t done him any favours. “No, I'm sorry man I hope I didn't freak you out or anything.” 

 

“No. No I’m not. I'm not freaked out. Just, uh you know, a federal thing.” Dean kept his gaze locked on the man in front of him. He played off the confusion, albeit a welcome one, hopefully not too much that he’d lose that interest all together. He’d shared the interest but admittedly he wasn’t as comfortable talking to men as he was talking to women. He could put in a half assed attempt on a bad day and still be invited back to her place but with men.. He couldn’t seem to come across as smooth or nonchalant. He couldn’t help the stutter or the sweaty palms or clumsiness. It was maybe his one weakness, other than the unhealthy devotion to his younger brother that every bastard in Heaven and Hell were intent on exploiting. That was the only reason he'd usually stick with women. It was easier after a hard day. 

 

But Aaron, as he’d come to learn his name was, had made the move for him. He can’t remember the last time that had happened but it had been so, so long. Dean had missed the muscular curve of a strong bicep with a tight grip and he’d missed the sweet and salty taste of a man who was writhing beneath him. Once he had them where he wanted them, he knew exactly how to pull them apart and stitch them slowly back together. It was getting them there that he struggled with. He tried to play it off but as usual, his mouth or body betrayed any chance of that cool suave coming through as it would with women.

“Okay… Citizen…” He cringed at his own wording and backed away from the table, mentally singing Hallelujah at the sound of his ringtone, an escape route for this poor.. poor pick up. Hopefully he could salvage it later. “As you were.” Why he couldn’t just stop talking would forever be a mystery.

 

“You have a good night.” Dean could hear the smirk in his voice as he turned, fully intending to return the comment but as he started, he backed into a table, knocking over several glasses and decided just to leave. Just get out of there and maybe pick up the pieces when the case was over. He was clearly interested. Hopefully he’d help Dean through the worst of the awkwardness and Dean could very much repay him later on.

 

He’d let it slip to Sam who, of course, was the one calling him. Turns out he was being followed and Dean thought he’d been too before he’d learned it was just a gay thing. One he hoped he could capitalise on later. 

 

Later he’d found out that he was merely being followed. It hit him in the gut probably harder than it should have. He was actually looking forward to it. It had been so long and Dean was such a giver when it came to sex. He’d want to take care of the guy who’d taken a chance by flirting with a federal agent. Or someone who was supposed to be a federal agent. He’d thought about it over and over since leaving the bar and he was admittedly upset that Aaron had only been wearing a mask too. It just drove that feeling in a little deeper that men could be complete and utter dicks. He’d be sticking to women for another long time after this misunderstanding. So he did as he always did. Feigned a smile and played it off.

“That was good. You really had me there. Very smooth.”

 

\---------------------------

 

Days came and days went and still no word from Cas. He’d called out to him and even prayed but he got nothing in response. He’d hold his eyes closed after anything from a “Cas, could you come back down here?” to the more desperate ones that he didn’t want to repeat. He’d sit silently for a few minutes after, half expecting those blackened wings to disturb the air around him and that gravelly voice mutter out a  _ ‘Hello Dean’. _ He’d gone longer without it but this was different. They both knew Dean could see, and apparently feel, his wings. Maybe he’d just left. Maybe the whole thing made him uncomfortable and he didn’t want to see Dean when Dean could really see him. What if he was finding a way to block himself from Dean’s vision again. What if it was breaking some kind of Angel Rule and he was getting another reaming in Heaven because of it. If he only knew then he could help or understand or something. Something more than the black hole that he was left with from not knowing. 

So when Kevin called them in an utter state of exhaustion and barely said two words on the phone, it could have been anything. Crowley could have found him, he may have actually read something on the tablet. He was a prophet so maybe he’d seen something like Chuck used to. All Chuck had been was his visions and his perfectly accurate glimpses into the Winchester lives but Kevin couldn’t do anything like that. He’d never seen Sam and Dean when he wasn’t with them. He didn’t even know them till they met and he’d been urged to steal the Leviathan tablet. He was a terrified and screaming Kevin Tran from Advanced Placement. Nothing like the demon bomb making, tablet reading, Crowley slipping badass he was now. If he had been in trouble it could have even been the Angels. They wanted him almost as much as the demons did. Either way, they left Dean’s freshly made burgers from their new kitchen that started to have both Dean and Sam salivating, and started the six hour drive to Garth's safe-house-boat. 

 

Knowing it could have been any of those scenarios was exactly what prompted the gun-wielding entrance they gave him. They’d called out and heard nothing in reply. Garth wasn’t there either, but then he rarely was. Doubling as the new Bobby on top of his babysitting duties made for conflicting schedules. 

 

They’d entered the boat with extreme caution, treading lightly and passing the notes and scribbles on the wall. There was easily three or four times the paper and post it notes that had been here about a month ago when they’d come with Cas for … Deans trail of thought wasn’t allowed to go back to Cas. He’d forbade it. He had much more pressing matters to concern himself with. Following a dull banging noise coming from behind a door on the opposite side of the room, Dean pushed it open and found their prophet throwing up in the sink behind it. 

 

After cleaning him up, settling him back in his chair and letting Kevin wipe the remaining blood away from his nose, Kevin still sounded nasally. Possibly the congealed blood was blocking his sinuses. Either way, as Sam pointed out so elegantly, he looked like hammered crap. Dean probed further.

“Are you eating?” Still wiping blood clear from the inner of his nose, Kevin hesitantly replied

“Hot dogs, mostly.” Cast a glimpse back to where the kitchen could have been, if it wasn’t buried under more papers and notes. Those didn’t look like the leftovers of any hot dogs Dean had ever seen. Knowing Kevin and his vegetarian ways it was some Tofu crap which was somehow worse than ground up hooves and pig anuses.  
“Sure, yeah -- breakfast of champions. Look, I'm gonna feel dirty saying this, but you might want a salad and a shower.” And he did feel dirty, right down to Sam’s casual side-eye for the salad remark.

“I know, and I've been getting bad headaches and nosebleeds, and I think maybe I had a small stroke. But it was worth it.” Sam interjected,

“What was worth it?” Kevin stood and tapped a finger to the offending rock that had tormented him for the last.. well technically since Dick. He was always going to be reading some sort of tablet now. May as well blame him for starting it.

“I figured out how to close the Gates of Hell.”

 

Dean couldn’t have kept the smile off his face if he wanted to. He stared, unbelieving at the kid till both he and Sam picked up in a soft laugh that could only mean he was telling the truth.

“Come here you smelly son of a bitch” Dean leapt forward into the hug that rose Kevin completely from the ground. This was amazing. They were officially about to begin their mission to send every piece of demon trash back to Hell where they belonged. Dean could have kissed the kid if Sam wouldn’t pound on him about it being wildly inappropriate and whatever. This was good. This was very good. 

 

After further discussion, it turns out all they had to do for the first of three tasks was gank one pesky hellhound. How hard could that be? Dean had somewhat almost gotten over his completely rational fear of them and it was time for a little payback, maybe four or so years too late. He’d take on an entire herd of the little bastards if it meant sending the demons packing. The thought of this being an actual possibility and being something that was actually within reach sent Dean's heart soaring. They could do this. They were Dean and Sam ‘Fucking’ Winchester. If they couldn’t pull this off, then nobody could. 

 

Even the brief supply run proved to have a different feel than normal. Other than the usual goofer dust and other bits and pieces to hunt and gank a devil dog, he’d promised to bring Kevin something edible. Maybe it was his good mood, maybe it was the fact he’d recently discovered the bunker’s kitchen and had a more than OK morning in there cooking for Sammy. Either way he ended up bagging a number of fresh and frozen things for Kevin and told himself he’d cook something for Kevin as a ‘thank you’.

 

When he’d come back, Sam had found something in Shoshone, Idaho. Some big time demon signs ten years ago that all pointed to a fulfilled contract. The good news kept on coming. If they could track down the one with the horseshoe up his ass they were one step closer to hunting a hellhound. 

 

Sam turned around his laptop and had an article from ten years ago pulled up on the screen. 

“Meet the Cassity's, small-time farmers who struck oil on their land in February of '03, which is weird because geological surveys --” Dean cut off, suddenly not caring about the fine print.

“Yeah, you had me at "weird." All right. We thinking deal?” Sam shrugged with no more than that to offer.

“Best lead we've got.”  
“Well, let's go visit the Beverly Hillbillies.” 

 

Dean turned to Kevin who was looking only slightly better after having a small break from the tablet. A realization occurred to Dean that they weren’t exactly ‘experienced’ in killing hellhounds. That and he was excited to start on the second trial, even before finishing the first one. “You stay here, work on step number two, and, uh, if you come across anything about Hellhounds, drop a dime, okay? 'Cause between the claws and the teeth and the whole invisibility thing, those bitches can be... real bitches.” He reached into his grocery bag of goodies and pulled out two bottles. “I got you a present.” He handed them to Kevin, “The, uh, blue ones are for the headaches, and the greens are for pep”. Dean gave an encouraging smile and a light smack up to Kevin's arm. Don't O.D.”

 

With their mission ahead of them, they were on the road to Idaho, Dean's stomach doing flips for most of the drive. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean arrived at the Cassity farm with one thing in mind. He was determined to be the one to endure the trials and be the one to close the gates of hell forever. Ruby’s knife was permanently on the inside of his jacket and the weight of it was a comfort. Yes, he was excited, terrified all the usual emotions you’d expect would come from planning to gank a hellhound. He had the Cassity’s and their twisted family drama’s down and after Carl, it was just a matter of finding the one that wished for oil.

 

A small part of him hoped this didn’t pan out. One hound was already in the wind with half of Carl’s insides in his belly. He’d tried to convince Sam to let him summon a crossroads demon but Sam got on him pretty quick and shut it down. Dean offered two days. Two days of waiting on their asses for another bitch before he could have one special delivered. Yeah Crowley would find out but part of him didn’t care. He was riding a high of starting the best hunt he’d ever started. One with an absolute end and maybe it was only partially a suicide mission. More than likely, whoever endured these trials wasn’t coming out the other side of it but so what. The only things he had going for him were Sam, hunting and Cas. With Cas gone, most likely left because Dean failed to tell him he could see his wings. Like it was a big deal anyway, who cares if he accidentally pushed them, or could see them or whatever. Cas had said certain people, special people could see Angels for what they really were. Maybe Dean was one of those and he just.. forgot?

 

With Cas gone and the gates of hell closed, he’d only have Sam. He wouldn’t need Dean if all the big bads were tied away in a neat little hell-box. Sure there’d be ghosts and vampires and wendigo’s but Sam could take those out in his sleep. Sam was the best hunter he’d ever seen. Better than him, better than Dad. He wouldn’t need him for that. If Dean was going to die during these trials, he could let Sam have a life. An honest to god life. Dean had tried that with Lisa and Ben but it wasn’t for him. He couldn’t live that apple pie life for whatever remained of his. He knew that now. He tried it and it didn’t work. No matter how domestic he’d force himself to be, he always had that pit in his stomach that told him he was empty. No Sam, no Cas, no monsters. He couldn’t live that life but Sammy could. 

 

Sam had told Dean that he saw a way out. He saw light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel where he didn’t. He was going to die at the edge of a blade or at the barrel and of a gun. But Sam, Sam was more than that. He could separate the job from the life where Dean couldn’t. If one of them was going out to close the gates it’d be Dean. That wasn’t up for discussion.

 

Which is why it hurt all the more as he watched his brother gut the hellhound, throat to navel. Dean had been curled up like a wounded lamb at the other end of the barn as he was forced to watch, helplessly. Dean could feel Ruby’s knife as though Sam had used it on him and for a brief moment, he was numb. But this was one hellhound. One hellhound in a vast army of demon pets. Sam had killed it to protect Dean and maybe it was only coincidence that he technically bathed in its black, oozing blood. That wasn’t the end all. They’d just hunt down another one. This place hadn’t been so hard to find. They could hunt another. 

 

Once again, Sammy shut him down. He’d figured out this was a suicide mission for Dean. It’s not that he was chasing down Death, ready to hop the next express train towards it but if he happened to die in the process then so be it. It’d be worth it. If anything was worth dying for, it was this. His damn little brother though had convinced him to let him take on the burden though. Let him fulfil the trials. Sam had begged Dean to believe in him and he did. Dean knew he did, deep down, but his default was still stuck to protect Sammy at all costs. He’d protect Sam till the day he died. There was no way he’d let these trials take his little brother from him.


	7. Chapter 7

Six weeks. Six weeks Dean had gone without so much as a word from Cas. He’d taken Alfie back upstairs to do whatever they do with the bodies of vessels. Most of them they’d left where they fell. Let local humans close missing case files on the vessels they’d been filling. He’d asked himself more than once why Alfie had been so important but he never had the opportunity to ask Cas. He couldn’t ask him what happened in Heaven when he should have. Cas tried to say the morning he came back but Dean cut him off. Still too tired, angry, hurt, exhausted and whatever else to care anymore. Now that Cas was gone he wanted to know what he was doing. He wanted to make sure he was alright and that he’d just left Dean for being the ass that he was and not fessing up sooner. He could handle that. Well he couldn’t. But he could handle it better than if Cas was hurt or in some Crowley style deal again. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to get himself into the same predicament again. He’d saw how it tore Dean apart last time. Or did he just not care enough so that he was completely capable of doing it again. Either way he was going mad not knowing. That's why they took on any case that they could find. Between cases and sorting through the newest episode of Hoarders: Men of Letters Edition, he’d thankfully have just enough to fill his plate.

So when James called, he’d all but dived into Baby, practically dragging Sam behind him. It was a good eight hours to St Louis, six and a half if Dean drove, but Dean craved Baby’s comfort as much as he did the distraction. With two hands on the wheel and the windows down, he let the passing air run across his skin and took him away as if he was flying. Though he had flown. With Cas and his wings and - crap, he was thinking about it again. Opting for the less than stellar airconditioning, he had Sam wind up his window as he did his own and left any thoughts of Cas or flying stay on the other side of the window.

Portia had been pretty hot. For a dog, anyway. He had tried his usual class act with her even though she was ‘soul bound’ to James but she’d seen right through him and called him out on his crap. It’s not like he had plans of them running away together but since his near miss with Ellie at Cassity Ranch, he’s been made all too aware of his dry spell. That could be the reason his head has been doing somersaults. He just needs to blow off a little steam. With Portia being clearly a no go, despite the obvious flirting on his end he’d file that away for something to take care of after this case. He finished that night with a clearer head. Now sure of a way to solve his problems, even if only temporarily.

He’d even managed to keep Cas out of his head for most of the time they were there. Right up until Dean started learning more and more about familiars and it may hit a little too close to home. Once she’d started in on the finer details, he started seeing Cas where he didn’t want or need him. When she’d said they’d communicate telepathically, granted it's not like Dean could hear Cas but he did feel like Cas had shut _him_ out. If he could hear him then why wasn’t he answering? He let Sam control some of the questions while he pushed that back down where it came from.   
“What, you think maybe there's something in there he doesn't want you to see?” With her deep voice, again hinting at a certain familiarity, she replied,  
“Possibly, yeah -- something dark, you know, that's destroying him. He can't go to the police, and he doesn't trust other witches.”

Cas had been skeptical when it came to trusting any angels in.. since before Raphael. He’d loved them as brothers and sisters did but he wasn’t sure he could trust them. He’d come to Sam and himself when he needed help. His higher up wasn’t home. If he existed in the first place and without someone of his own kind he could trust.. This was looking all too familiar. So what if the other part was right too? What if there was something dark that was destroying Cas that he wasn’t asking for help with. Did he know he needed help? Or was he so mad at Dean that he wouldn’t ask for it. Suddenly becoming very antsy about this conversation, he very much turned it back towards James and went to go have a talk with the man, himself.

\------------------------------------------------------------

It had been best if they split up. Dean was still somewhat bitter that Sam insisted on taking the trials himself. With Sam’s little outburst of Dean ‘not trusting anyone but himself’, he may have had it all too accurate. Dean didn’t trust anyone. not anymore. He’d trusted Sam and that blew up in his face. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever completely heal that he chose a demon over his own blood. He’d trusted Cas and that got him up Dick creek with Leviathans and a broken Angel. He did trust Benny but something in him told him it was only a matter of time before that olive branch snapped as well. Dean used to be trusting but in the end, it always bit him in the ass. He may have Sam at his side, begging for trust and faith in him and he gives it where he can but they can’t go back to what they were. Not really.

So Sam had gone to James’s precinct to find if his dreams had any merit. To see if they’d happened at all, let alone in the way he’d seen it. Dean went with Portia to some dive to ask the locals if they knew anything about witches being able to control other witches. Maybe they should have switched places and Dean could have been left with the suits.

Dean could tell as soon as he entered that he wasn’t welcome. He could pass himself off as a Wiccan all he liked but they knew. Maybe not that he wasn’t one of them but they knew he wasn’t something. That was enough for a protective and close knit group like them. He could feel the disdain wafting towards them and their inquisitive glances from across the room wasn’t doing them any favours. Perhaps if they were talking they’d look a little less ominous.   
“How did James find you, anyway?” Dean kept his eyes flicking between the guests of the nightclub, trying to figure if there were any threats when he heard the smile in Portia's voice.  
“Not the way it works. The familiar finds the master, and they become inseparable.”  
“Guess a lot of people feel that way about their pets.” Portia stopped and turned sharply, commanding Dean’s whole attention. “What?”

She scoffed, disbelief and frustration clear over her features.   
“I'm not James' pet.”   
“Well, not all the time.” He was halfway through a smile when she stepped towards him and pushed him in the chest. Not hard enough to send him back, just hard enough that she got her point across. There was a fire building in her darkened eyes and he could almost see the spark flickering behind them.  
“Not ever. The master and the familiar -- there's an unbreakable bond, like a melding of souls. We would die for each other.”

Something had clicked in him under her words. ‘Melding of souls’. Instantly his mind went back to Cas. Again. This barely even filtered into the ‘comparative’ and Dean couldn’t work out why he’d thought of Cas now. It’s not like Cas had a soul. They couldn’t.. meld… even if they wanted to. But, admittedly, something was happening either to Dean or between them. Or it had. He hadn’t dreamt of him in weeks, they hadn’t even spoken. To be honest, Dean didn’t know if Cas was even alive. Whatever profound bond they had shared, clearly it was nothing on the bond between a familiar and their witch.

She probably would have gone on if it wasn’t for a man snapping his fingers and calling her attention, and thankfully so. He didn’t much care for hearing about ‘bonds’ which were stronger than anything he had at the moment. They crossed the room to meet this man who was sat back comfortably in a large, dramatic loveseat, complete with fake diamonds in the white fabric. Something about him instantly told Dean he was batting for the same team. Not that Dean cared, clearly. He had gone a few rounds himself. He could never be so.. open about it though. He had a hard enough time talking to them, let alone making his intentions that obvious.

After a brief introduction to Philippe, and an out of place sneeze, it was clear he didn’t have much information. The only thing he knew was that the ‘community’ wasn’t too fond of James.  
“He brings it on himself. The whole cop thing -- witch cop -- is he nuts?” Oh, someone that agreed with him.  
“I said the exact same thing.” Portia shot Dean a dirty look, as if he was supposed to be on her side, which he was, but he couldn’t help if he wasn’t fond of witches. They were nothing but bad and people were always getting ganked out of revenge or as sacrifices and it never ended well. Now the guy that had saved their lives a few years back was mixing around in it, he felt himself needing to help, though not really wanting to. Philippe drew Portia’s dirty glance back to him.  
“Then there's you, babe.” He paused and leant forward in his chair. He continued but not with the jesting gossip tone he had before. He almost purred at her, with a sharpness in his tone. “It isn't done, Portia, and you know it.” Done?  
“I'm sorry. Uh, remind me, what -- what isn't done?”

Philippe turned to Dean with the smile returning to his voice.  
“What do you know about familiars, Dean? As a Wiccan, has your familiar found you?”  
Dean turned towards Portia, hoping she’d give him an out but his earlier comment had apparently gotten under her skin. She gave an insincere smile and let him dig out of his own hole.  
“I don’t.. I mean.. There’s a bond but I -”  
“It’s a extraordinary connection between two species. Often one, the familiar, the more fantastic, dedicates themselves to the human that decided one day to pick up a ‘How to’ guide. James is nothing more than the rookie cop he was before magic came into play. Once that happened, our lovely Portia here was drawn to him and viola. Perfect bond.” He smiled at her, and she returned it genuinely. Dean thought to himself maybe they were old friends. But did that mean -   
“So which one are you?… You know, are you..?” Philippe looked back at Dean, smiling somewhat mockingly and actually purred this time. Dean couldn’t have mistaken it. His eyes filled with a yellow hue and the black pupils stretched out. Dean blinked and he’d changed them back to their olive shade. “You’re a cat?” Dean asked, the disbelief clear in his voice. Philippe simply curled the corners of his mouth in, what was clearly now, a feline smile. He could read it all over his sharp cheekbones and slender nose. Dean leant slightly towards Portia and loudly whispered “I knew it.”

That raised a whole new set of questions. Ones Dean would have to ask before Sammy called him from the precinct and dragged his attentions away. He turned back to the felinesque face in front of him and started asking.  
“What else can you be?” Phillipe seemed shocked at such a question. Like he’d been expecting Dean to avoid the topic entirely.  
“We’re bound to the animal in us.”  
“But what else is there? Are all familiars cats or dogs?” Philippe lost his smile and his expression bordered curiosity and something dangerous.  
“What are you asking, wiccan from Detroit?”

Dean flicked his eyes between Philippe and Portia, the same hardened expression on both their faces. Oh great, had he broken some taboo? Had his genuine curiosity rubbed them the wrong way and would he be leaving the nightclub with a claw-like scratch?  
“I just mean… I know you share a bond but when your .. What else is there?” Still somewhat confused by the question, but willing to continue, Philippe finally answered.  
“Just about anything. The familiar that’s drawn to a witch is drawn because of their spirit. Their soul. Similar to pagan beliefs, a person's ‘spirit animal’ is meant to be a representation of the traits and characteristics that someone possesses. This can be cats, dogs, reptiles -”  
“Birds?” Philippe sighed and leant back in his chair, clearly growing tired of Deans prying.  
“If you have a question, please just ask it.”

Dean hesitated. He did, but he didn’t know how to put it into words. Not without coming off in all the wrong ways. Not without being thrown out of the club immediately. He needed to tread with caution. He took a deep breath, trying to give every intention that he was nearing his point.   
“When you’re in your… when you’re…”

Portia sighed and rolled her eyes,   
“When we’re in our familiar form, yes?” Dean searched for the words, praying he got them right.  
“Do you.. Do the witches.. take care of you?” The question clearly shocked both of them. They made a subtle glance around the room as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats, waiting for Dean to elaborate. “I mean as a dog, does James .. I don’t know, wash you?” He turned back to Phillipe, “As a cat, does Spencer -”   
“Groom me?” He cut off with a twinkle in his eye and the smile slowly returning to his face.  
“Yeah. Not like _pets_ ,” he mostly directed at Portia, but he addressed Phillipe, “but.. _like_ pets?”

Philippe ran his tongue on the underside of his lip, a glimmer forming that contrasted bitterly with the icy stare that Portia was giving him.  
“Our bond is unbreakable and we care for eachother as we would a lover. Though it's -” he clearly directed his comment towards Portia “- not the way our bond is made. We don’t share things as lovers would but, without another bond to compare it to, that would perhaps be the closest. Such things aren’t discussed in most circles. They’re very intimate. Luckily, I like you.”

Portia folded her arms and sat back. He didn’t find himself to be caring at the moment. He needed answers and the cat was going to give them to him. He wasn't even sure what he wanted answers for but a burning curiosity drove the questions from him. Perhaps that's why they were worded so elegantly.  
“I can’t speak for Portia, though there are whispers about what her and James get up to. As for the rest of us, you could say something like that yes. Cats have their fur brushed as they lay across their witches. Dogs get their bellies rubbed.” He winked at Portia and she’d clearly been restraining herself from diving out of the seat.   
“And birds? They need their wings groomed too don’t they?”  
“I would say so. Can’t say I’ve met too many birds, but most complain about their wings an awful lot. I’d say all those feathers going all askew must wreak havoc. Thank the gods they don’t have them all the time.” Dean thought about it. He thought back to the last time he’d seen Cas’s wings and when he’d pushed past them, his fingers brushing into the thick, soft feathers and was snapped back by Philippe's next question.  
“Why do you ask, Detroit?”

  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dean couldn’t get that line of thought out of his head for the rest of the case. Granted he wasn’t about to make a habit out of stalking familiars, asking what their ‘spirit animal’ was and start up on twenty questions. This was completely new territory and one Dean wasn’t sure he should even be getting into. Cas could be dead for all he knew, but honestly this little project gave him something to focus on when it wasn’t trials, or murderous witches or Crowley. He had more than enough on his plate but he still couldn’t get Cas out of his head. On second thought, looking into this would only make it worse. The whole point of it was to learn about Cas’s wings from someone who could actually answer the questions he had. What did that matter if he was dead or gone or just righteously pissed off enough to leave and not come back. Either way, Dean found himself with a morbid fascination. A maddening curiosity on the dark shadows that came from Cas.

This case was nearly over though and they could get back to nagging Kevin about finding more trials. The sooner they knocked Crowley and Hell off the playing board, the better. After taking an astro-walk with James, they’d fingered the cat and had planned on heading over to the nightclub. They would put him down like the animal he was then get back to what really mattered. Unfortunately James had run off ahead. Typical witch. Having to do everything for themselves and being unbelievably stubborn. When they’d finally caught up and cautiously crept down the stairs into the club, they immediately heard voices. One they knew as James.   
“She was meant to be my familiar!” The other Dean had met only once.   
“Oh, she's way more than familiar, isn't she?”

They crept closer, now spotting Philippe lying unmoving across the bar. Dean gathered the pieces and put them into place. This was Philippe's witch. He’d framed James. Dean raised an arm and held it in front of his brother, motioning for them to stop and listen. Waiting for a moment to announce themselves. Though when Spencer kept taunting, Dean wished he hadn’t. With talks of witches controlling witches and more comparisons that were vague and distant, Dean made the connections all the same.   
“When she picked you as master, I endured it. But when you two went all Bella and Edward, broke the code, put your passions before the community rules, well, the arrogance, the entitlement was too much. Your total ruination seemed appropriate.”

Dean had heard enough. Announcing his presence outright wasn’t something he had planned but something in his head had short circuited. All it managed to do was earn them a one way ticket across the room and over half the furniture. Giving Sam an almost apologetic nod, he pulled out the spell and knew they needed to be quick.  
“Hurry.” He’d said in a quiet, almost panicked tone. Sam had barely started the incantation before they were frozen, quite literally in place. Dean felt the ice creep, if only for a second, through his veins and into his extremities, contracting the muscles and locking them where they stood. They stared, paralysed, at Spencer as he turned back to face them.  
“It’s not only James’ head I can get inside.”

With an outstretched hand, Dean felt the phantom fingers push into his brain and begin searching for ammo to drag to the surface. He saw his mother, pinned to the ceiling engulfed by fire. He felt the bite of the metal hook in the flesh of his collar when he first entered Hell. He saw Cas bursting into Alistair's Red Room and horror mixed with utter fear of not knowing who he was or why he was there. He watched Cas walk slowly, arms raised into the lake before bursting into a mess of black ooze. And he saw Cas with blood trickling down his eye. A vacancy behind them that was so foreign to him. Once those eyes told stories of the earth. A millennia through vast oceans of blue but in that moment they were empty.

It was all ripped away again once they’d heard a snarling and screaming. Once his vision was returned to them, they saw Portia with her jaws around his throat. Seizing the opportunity, they did what they came to do and molotov’d Spencer with Bobby’s concoction, found through digging through his old things, sending him into a deconstructed mist of blood and smoke.

Catching his breath, he turned to his brother who’d clearly had his eggs scrambled as well. Chances are he _knew_ what his brother saw. Lucifer. Michael at the cemetery. The Cage. The stuff of actual nightmares. Other than Hell and his mother, Dean had seen Cas. It was always Cas. Dean's jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists by his side. He’d all but admitted defeat. Cas was going to haunt him and he couldn't do this alone. He’d need his brother. 


	8. Chapter 8

Maybe he _had_ been sucking up. Just a little. Dean had been extra accommodating to Sammy in a cheap attempt to butter him up. Sure, Sam would be concerned and he’d dive straight into hitting the books at the Men of Letters bunker to see if anything like this had happened before, but he’d also be pissed. Dean had been keeping this from him for the better part of two months. Ever since he’d been jump-started when Cas came back he’d been playing it all off and _not_ mentioning it. It was, perhaps, the biggest weakness between him and his brother. They’d forever keep their dirty laundry packed away from each other in an attempt to keep the other safe. Sam and Ruby. Dean and Benny. Dean killing Amy. Sam’s hallucinations. They’d had more than their fair share of secrets but they were kept hidden out of the best intentions, but that was how it always went. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and they’d both have the best reserved seats in the house. Crowley would be sure of it. Maybe working through this together would help the black hole he’d been left with since Cas left. Since Sam jumped in the hole. One he’d been carrying around since before he could remember.

Dean had done the heavy lifting, he’d stripped and cleaned their guns and he’d even let Sam drive Baby a couple of times. He’d need his brother to be in a half decent mood for when he’d finally break this to him. He’d kept worse secrets and they’d come out in even worse ways but that was then. That was things he’d already done. Things that didn’t need talking about or had no point being brought up again. This was now. This was happening to him now and he needed to find that light at the end of the tunnel. He needed his brother to help him get there.

The door to the main room of the bunker closed heavily behind him, the thick iron closing with a lock that clicked in Dean's ear. Now was a good a time as any. It’s not like he could suck up any more than he already had, not without performing small miracles. He carried the few bags of groceries down that hadn’t been placed immediately in the kitchen. Mainly left was a six pack of beer and some prepackaged salad he’d thought may soften the blow. He’d come back and Sam was spread across the Men of Letters computerised table, the laptop and the tables surface reflecting through his eyes and a selection of open books spread around him. He set the bags down, pulling out a couple of the chilled beers and opening them before passing one to Sam who’d hadn’t yet pulled his attentions away from the screen. Dean drank from his beer then pulled out the packaged salad and a white disposable fork and placed them next to him, getting a more interested reaction. With a small, but weary smile, he moved to the adjacent chair next to Sam and his plethora of reading material and sat down, somewhat hesitantly.  
“Find anything?”

Truth was, they hadn’t had a case since James and Portia which was just over a week ago. Dean had really hoped nothing would come up. His energy was too focused on keeping his brother happy before righteously pissing him off. He’d hoped now that everything still seemed relatively normal.  
“I did, yeah. Dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week.” He started spewing off towns, ones Dean didn’t really hear. With a sinking feeling he'd realised he’d missed the buttered opportunity to talk to him about Cas. Now, Sam would be set on hunting the thing making people dead.  
“And how is this us?”  
“Because each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquefied.” Dean paused before smacking his lips together and admitting,  
“That sounds like us.”

Sam looked back to his screen but before he could open his mouth, Something escaped Dean’s lips before he had a chance to filter it.  
“Do you remember everything from the cage?”

Sam looked to Dean and froze. The question had struck him very much out of the blue, having been over a year since Cas took the burden from him and even longer since he’d actually been there. Once Death’s wall had crumbled, he’d remembered all of it. Lucifers tortures and Michael’s torments. True, Lucifer had stopped haunting him since Cas took him away, but did he take the memories with him? Tentatively, Sam answered.  
“Yes. At least I’m pretty sure I do. Cas tore the wall down, letting everything pour back in but when he took Lucifer away, all the memories stayed. Similar to you and Hell, I guess.”

Dean stared at his brother, hoping to read anything else through his confused expression. Sam leant back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair and behind his ears. “I remember it. Sure it haunts me. I still have nightmares but as for the crazies.. I’ve had time to move past it. What made you ask?”

Where to start. He’d have too much to tell his brother, he’d have to get him passed being shifty about keeping it secret. But he’d have to get him there first. He took a long drink from his beer before leaning forward in his seat, holding his bottle of beer between both hands and fiddling with the label. He kept his eyes downcast as he asked,  
“When Cas tore your wall down… Did he bring anything else back?” Sam’s confusion melted away and concern took its place. He sat forward in a small attempt to draw Dean’s attention.  
“Dean, what’s this about?”

May as well dive in. There’s no point probing at the edges now. He had opened the door and it was time to go through,  
“After we got Kevin and half of the demon tablet, right after Cas got back…” Dean sighed and placed his, now empty bottle, down on the table next to him. He ran his hands down his thighs, straightening any creases in his jeans and took a breath, as if the next sentences were going to drain the life from him.  
“When I came back, I told you Cas died in Purgatory. That something happened to him and he just let go. That was true. When we got to that portal.. Sammy, I had him. I had him by the hand but he slipped and the damn portal closed up behind him and for the longest time I thought that was my fault.” Dean shifted somewhat in his seat. He was never good at explaining his actions or reminiscing on the ‘good times’. “When he came back, after we got Kevin from Crowley he .. he _showed_ me that wasn’t how it went down.” He paused, looking to his brother, hoping he’d get the insinuation. They shared a soulful look.  
“Showed you?”  
“He .. I don’t know, man, he did something. Rebooted the memory and showed me that he wanted to stay in there. That he pushed me into the portal and sent me on my way. He said I remembered how I needed to remember it.” Sam had long stopped picking at the withering take-away salad, though he hadn’t touched his beer either. He was too focused on every word Dean was saying, trying to pick up any connotations and why one altered memory would be so hard for Dean to bring up.  
“He changed a memory? Can they even, I mean obviously they can, but Dean this was months ago? Why are you telling me now?”

Here goes nothing.  
“He .. _showed_ me some other things too. I don’t know if he meant to, he didn’t say anything but other things changed too.” He didn’t give Sam the chance to ask which ones, he knew it was coming so he figured he’d beat him to it and get this all over with. “I’ve been dreaming.. reliving certain moments. Only differently. The night we first met at the barn, I dreamt it again and I saw Cas but with his -” Dean gestured emphatically behind his back, “- big ass wings behind him.” Sam let out a shaky breath and allowed his brother to continue. “I saw him with that kid that had the Staff of Moses and he was...it was _different_ to how I remembered it. He seemed so cold, like getting Balthazar's name was the only thing that mattered. When I saw it again he looked… He looked heartbroken, if the bastard even has one.”

Sam gave him a moment. This was more than Dean spoke about Cas in months and it was clearly eating away at him. He fought back the ‘how long has this been going on’ parental questions and figured he’d save them. He wanted to see what Dean admitted to first.

Dean began to struggle with his sentences. The ones he formed in his head seemed, somehow, not enough. He forced them out anyway, as if they were a weight and once they were out, he’d somehow feel better.  
“I saw his deal with Crowley.” Sam's face dropped. All the questions at the front of his mind were kept silent, albeit very difficulty. “Or when it started, anyway. I was with Lisa and Ben and I was raking leaves in the middle of Autumn. You were probably up for a good 8 months or so.” He shot Sam a quick smile, as if he’d forgiven him. Which he mostly had, but he could never forgive soulless Sam. That monster was thankfully dead and buried. “I think.. he was watching me. I’m not sure how long for but eventually that douche rocked up and offered him a deal. He didn’t dive straight in.. Hell, I think he wanted to ask my help but for whatever reason he didn’t. He left with Crowley.”

“Dean, you can’t know what he was thinking then. It’s not like you could have gone up to him and asked? Could you control any of these dreams?”  
“No. I was stuck. But I caught a glimpse and the way he looked at me.. Sam he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t even ask for my help. I think he was out of options and for whatever reason, he didn’t even _consider_ me as one. ”

“Well, you weren’t.” Sam answered bluntly. Dean looked almost offended and leant back in his seat, immediately defensive before Sam continued. “Dean, you got out, you lost me. He didn’t want to drag you straight back in again. I can see the reasoning and he would have wanted you safe.”

The hard expression across Dean's face faltered. He couldn’t control the softening of his eyes and the warmth that began to build in his chest. Cas had made a damn mess of the whole thing with Crowley and souls and Purgatory. He had. But he’d done it all, not only to stop Raphael, but he did it as a means to keep Dean in his suburban life with Lisa. Sam continued,  
“Were there more dreams?” Dean pulled his focus back. He’d barely noted he’d been staring blankly at a spot on the wall behind Sam's shoulder. He’d zoned out a little and started thinking about Cas again and hoping against hope that he’d be alright. Though he still couldn't bring up Cas getting him out of hell. That was one dream he’d hold on to.  
“Not really. I haven’t had once since before we found the batcave.”

Sam finally took a tentative sip from his bottle. He could tell this was hard on Dean. He could. But he’d need to know what they were looking at and if it posed any threat. If he hadn’t had any for a while, surely it was just a once off. Or a thrice off, anyway. Sam noted as Dean took another breath.  
“I …. I can see his wings, Sammy.”

Sam, worried brow and confused expressions returning, lowered the bottle from his lips and absently thumbed the lip.  
“Yeah, at the barn. What did they look like?” Dean bit his lip and gently shook his head.  
“No, Sammy. I can _see_ them. Present tense. That night in Pontiac before Cas went back upstairs? He popped in and .. they were there. Big and black and.. passing through you! They passed right through you and you didn’t even flinch! When I saw them at the barn, they were transparent, but the more I see them.. The more I _see_ them.”

The irritation in Sam was starting to build. Even if he was damn pissed that Dean kept this, he’d still need the details.  
“So your little hissy-fit when Cas came asking for help with Alfie.. You could already see them?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So what happened to make you dive out of your seat?”

Dean wished he had another beer. Or whiskey. Something with a little burn to make this conversation easier. His Dad had always told him to keep his issues bottled, like a man. He was usually pretty good at it but he’d still have his weak moments when he needed his brother. Needed the smart one to help diagnose and fix him. He couldn’t meet Sam’s eye. He knew it'd be filled with questions he couldn't answer, wouldn’t answer. He’d give him the _‘why didn’t you tell him when you had the chance’_. He knew all this already and he was kicking himself for it every damn day.  
“I touched them.”

Sam’s shocked expression didn’t surprise Dean. He shouldn’t even be able to see them, let alone touch them. He sat silent, allowing Sam to lean forward, daring to probe further.  
“And that -” he gestured to somewhere in the distance “-weirdness on Garth's boat?”  
“He knew I could see them and he .. saw me watching as he opened them to fly off.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I think he was showing off.” With a deadpan tone, Sam continued.  
“That wasn’t showing off Dean. I saw his face and he was .. he was scared.”

A sudden realisation occurred to Dean and he pursed his lips together before asking,  
“Can Cas hear us?” Sam ran another hand through his golden locks.  
“I don’t know. If he can he hasn’t been paying attention yet, so why would he now? Besides we haven't seen him in almost two months, he could be…” He trailed off, as if use of the actual word would hurt Dean.  
“Dead, yeah I know. We didn’t really have a chance to sit down and ‘talk about our feelings’ before he bailed.”  
“He doesn’t even know? Does he know he caused it? Or that he may have caused it?” Dean simply shrugged. They hadn’t said a word to each other. Hell, it may not have been his fault but it would have been a damn big coincidence otherwise.

Dean saw the question before Sam had even said it. He’d waited for it. He thought it was coming earlier but that didn’t stop the sinking feeling it created once actually spoken aloud.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He dropped his eyes back to his hands in front of him on the table, features mimicking that of a scolded child.  
“I didn’t think it needed attention. They were only dreams and we had bigger fish to fry. Namely, these trials and Crowley still has half of the demon tablet and -”  
“Why are you telling me now? You wouldn’t have told me at all unless I started to figure something out.” Dean had almost forgotten how smart his brother was. Of course he’d figure it out sooner or later. He held his silence as long as he could. There wasn’t a way to word this without it sounding like a lovesick-puppy filled chick flick moment. His brother would have a field day.  
“I can’t get him out of my head. I thought I could but that witchy bastard with the cat did something and -” he waved his hand away, as if this was nothing and he hoped that it wasn’t. Cas had buried himself deep in Dean's brain and he was like a disease. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. He kept dreaming about him. Cas was haunting Dean and he needed it to be fixed. He needed to make it go away.

Sam let out a delicate smile. One so small that Dean almost missed it entirely.  
“Well I’m glad you find this amusing.” He pushed back from the table, and head back towards, what would loosely could be called a library. The books and materials in this room were but a sample of the vast expanse of the Men of Letters research. It just looked very much like one, so that's what Dean referred to it as.

Sam called out after him but after no reply, followed him over to the large wooden table where he was now pouring surprisingly good whiskey out of an old crystal decanter.  
“It’s not amusing. It’s not. I am a little worried that you can see his wings. Can you see them all.. transparent-y? Or are they all there?”  
“Each time I see, or saw him, I could see a little more. On Garth's boat I could actually make out a .. This deep blue.” Kind of like his eye’s, but he’d never say it out loud. “The first time they were pretty see-through. They passed right through you and everything. Each dream they got a little darker. When I pushed them they were almost all there but when he left Garth’s.. It was like they were there but the details were being filled in.”

“Have you thought maybe.. If .. or when.. You see them completely you may have a Pam-adjacent reaction?”  
“Of course, I have. Why do you think I’m telling you?”

They both stood in silence, other than the sound of Dean downing the small glass of whiskey in one go. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’d just needed so badly to have it out of his system and there wasn’t anyone else he’d talk to about this. Sam had suggested research, see what the Men of Letters had on Angels and their true forms but Dean declined. He’d finished what he’d been dreading and that was getting the words out in the open. The promise of a case didn’t sound too bad right now so he led Sam back to the laptop and asked for the details.

\-----------------------------------------------

The drive to Lincoln Springs, Missouri hadn’t been too awkward. Thankfully, Sam hadn’t asked too many questions about Dean’s dreams or Cas’s wings, though Dean could tell he was itching to. He kept giving sideways glances when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. As though Dean was the one to be worried about. Dean knew the first trial had taken its toll on Sam and he knew he wouldn’t mention it. He’d play it off as nothing or a small price for their ultimate goal. Dean didn’t want to add the stress of this whole Cas thing but it did serve as a distraction. Just as Dean had needed when the dreams first started popping up. At least they had a case and they could go back to worrying about their messed up problems again afterwards.

They’d spoken to various witnesses, husbands and wives and they’d all said the same thing. Strange behaviour from the victims before black eyes and a disappearing act, leaving them terrified or confused. When they’d see them again, the victims had their eyeballs melted. Though the most recent victim had been seen talking to somewhat of a local historian and they’d never have even spoken before a few days ago. That seemed the best place to start. She’d been a little unorthodox. _Super_ enthusiastic about her research. Dean knew Sam would relate. She’d mentioned a 100 year flood that wiped the town out and buried a, now missing, orchard. Whatever it was, if the demons wanted it so did Dean. Wendy then explained she’d found the site the victim, or rather the demon in the victim's meat suit, had been looking for. Before they could get much further however, they’d been interrupted by a knock on the door.

Turns out the demons, and by extension probably Crowley, had followed the same lead. Three demons barged through the door with their sights on Wendy, who’d been knocked through the coffee table before Sam and Dean dove in to best them. It had been far too long since Dean was in a decent fight and he appreciated the struggle. The contact of his fist on the other man's face. Now wasn’t the time though, there was still two demons so this sweet victory would need to be cut short. Dean pulled Ruby’s blade from his belt and prepared to thrust it into the demon's chest but he smoked out. He filled the room before heading to Wendy and taking up residence. She dove up and ran towards the kitchen, Dean quick on her heels. As he entered, the demon above Sam was bursting with white light and screaming in agony, shrouded by giant black wings. Cas had a hand on the demon's head, and Wendy in his other hand. Dropping the burnt demon down by Sam, he turned and faced Dean.

Dean’s eyes were wide and his chest was suddenly too tight. Was this real? Or had he finally lost it. Had he finally been all-consumed by Cas that he was seeing him everywhere. He chanced a quick look towards Sam who, apparently, could see him too. _Good._ Dean thought, good. He was here. Though if he was he had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. Even if Dean’s lungs struggled and his chest heaved, he was still pissed. Grateful, so so grateful that he wasn’t just dead. But mostly, he was pissed.

He ignored him briefly as he tended to his brother. He waited for the extended wings to lower themselves so that Dean could comfortably pass them to get to the freezer to get an ice pack out. With a silent gesture, Dean asked Sam to head back out to the other room. The kitchen was too small for the three of them, if only from his perspective. Sam did as he was asked and head to the lounge, sitting and working out the worst of his injuries and doing a check over to make sure nothing was too badly damaged. Dean followed close behind him, breaking up the frozen gel in the icepack and working it so it’d be flexible around Sam’s shoulder. Once he’d, again, maneuvered past Cas’s wing, he’d met his brother in the lounge and tossed the ice pack at him, which only ended up tossed to the floor, before joining him on the sofa. Clearly Sam was less than impressed as well.

When he’d sat down he’d looked back to see Cas had followed them to the living room, seemingly unphased by the brothers or their hostility towards him.  
“The other demon escaped. I bound the one I caught in a devil's trap. I'll interrogate it now.” Sam interjected immediately, stopping Cas from returning to the kitchen.  
“Wait a second Cas, how about you answer some questions first. Like where the hell have you been?” That was a question Dean would very much like the answer to. He’d prayed for him and still nothing. They were only the prayers he’d given him in Purgatory. Letting him know about the case they were on, asking him to somehow show if he was alright. He prayed for his brother too. These trials were going to be hell so he asked Cas to watch over him. If he had heard a different discussion in the bunker then this could get rather awkward. Dean had hoped to ask those sorts of questions when they had the time alone. Unless he hadn’t heard them and this was.. What _was_ this?  
“You heard me, didn't you?” He kept his eyes on Cas but saw Sam try to catch his attention out of his peripheral.  
“You prayed to him?” Cas moved back towards them, sitting himself in the lounge chair opposite them and allowing his wings to pass through the ugly yellow chair.  
“Yes, I heard you. But that's not why I'm here.” He sighed “I've been hunting demons.”

  
Sam kept his eyes on Cas. The hurt and confusion melting into a serious question.  
“So this is you. Why?”

Castiel sat in silence. He stared at them with a similar look to the one the night at the factory. Vacant. Empty. But only for a brief moment.  
“I've been searching for the other half of the Demon Tablet.” Dean snapped immediately.  
“Without us?” Cas sat forward in his chair.  
“I've been trying to help, Dean. And in my search, I uncovered that Crowley has sent out demons to find Lucifer's crypts.”

Dean had, effectively, tuned out of the conversation. He was sure it was important, undoubtedly so if Cas was actually _here_ , but he found himself unable to listen. He was too focused on Cas and his wings and their, seemingly, odd behaviour. He’d only seen them a handful of times. It’s not like he understood wings or feathers or anything about birds or angels. Were they even similar enough to be compared? Were Angel wings different even though they looked similar enough? What caught Dean's attention was the deep blue colouring towards the inner tips was faded. The blue that was as mesmerising as a blue hour, the hour before the sun had completely risen that Dean had watched all too many times from Baby’s hood. It wasn’t anywhere near as bright as he’d seen them on Garth's boat. They were almost completely black. Cas had pulled the wings tight beside him and before, when they’d almost ruffled just from talking to Dean, now they were completely still. Motionless. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he knew, or what he knew, but his hunter instincts had never failed him before. Rather than question him, he let him continue. Last time they’d asked he’d ran off with Alfie’s body. Dean would be on guard at all times, but he’d let it play out.

“They're looking for a parchment that would allow them to decipher Crowley's half of the Demon Tablet without a Prophet.” They’d suspect something without the usual input from Dean.  
“A demonic decoder ring? In Crowley's hands? Awesome.”

  
Dean listened as more of the conversation unfolded, watching the small rise and fall of the tips of his wings as he spoke. Those moments were the only signs that they were there at all and not just vivid hallucinations. The barely moved at all. No rustling or the occasional stretch of the tips. If anything, they looked worse for wear. He could see feathers bent and disheveled, the softer feathers clumped together and gave the overall look that they couldn’t be comfortable. He thought back to Philippe who’d said that the avian familiars had to take care of their wings while in their familiar form. Was this what he meant? Did Cas groom his wings like that too? Had he been neglecting them and if he had, what reason could there be behind it? His attentions were drawn back to the conversation as Cas rose to return to the kitchen, heading to interrogate the demon. The wings remained at his side, as still as a soldier when called to attention. They barely had the life of their own they seemed to have before. Once he’d left the room, Dean turned to his brother.  
“Well, he puts the "ass" in "Cas," huh?”  
“He's definitely off.” Sam offered back, immediately. Clearly he’d picked up on something strange too and that was without the looming wings.  
“Off? He hasn't been right since he got back from Purgatory. We still don't know how he got out of there.”  
“I don't know, Dean.” He paused for a moment, looked back to the kitchen door, waiting to see if Cas would be staying in there. Quietly, he turned back to Dean. “Can you still.. see him?” Dean kept his eyes fixed on the door that Cas had passed through, both wanting and fearing the angels return.  
“Yeah.” He let out a shaky breath. Being able to talk to Sam did make it easier, though he’d never tell him. He was more of an intermediary of growing comfortable with it before actually talking to Cas which would be harder, a hundred times over. “Though something was different. Whatever has his panties in a bunch is affecting them too. They’re … I don't know. Something is definitely not right.”

From there, their line of inquiry from the demon was stuck in a downward spiral. Cas had killed the demon in the kitchen just as she started giving some answers. It was strange, she acted like she knew nothing about the parchment but Cas drove his Angel blade through her heart before she said what she _was_ looking for. That just brought on a whole new level of suspicion, especially when Cas had fluttered off with a great beat of his wings to the hotel where they, supposedly, had a hostage that knew the locations of the crypts holding Lucifer's goodies. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t so much as look at Dean, let alone show she same worry as he had last time he took off. He just left. Sam and Dean had rushed over to the hotel in a state of panic. Not that Cas was diving face first into God knows how many demons, granted that caused some concern for Dean, but based on the last demon Cas ‘interrogated’, he may actually kill them before they get a valuable lead.

That was how it had gone down, evidently. They’d barged into the Murray Hotel room to find meat suits strewn across the floor and Cas gesturing towards, presumably, the bathroom door. At least he’d left the hostage alone. For now. Upon slowly opening the door and finding a bleached blonde Meg, Dean stomach had sunk even further. Last time her and Cas were together and he wasn’t ‘Crazy Town’ yet, he’d shown her the pizza man, then they’d spent the next months more or less, inseparable. She’d taken care of him while Sam and Dean hunted Dick but no matter how important that was, he still felt like he was abandoning Cas. It’s not that he did want to leave her with him for protection against the halo patrol, it's that he didn't want to leave her with him. She was a demon with a crush on an angel. An angel at his lowest and probably a foot in the grave and she could have exploited him as soon as look at him. For whatever reason though, she didn’t. She did what she’d said. What Dean couldn’t. Take care of him.

Dean kept Cas in his peripheral as Meg told him where she’d been for the last year. Crowley had kept her and tortured her in an attempt to find an angel tablet. Super. This was news to them and Cas claimed it was to him as well but something was still ‘off’, for lack of a better word. His features, which Dean had come to know so well and could tell even the tiniest flicker of emotion were now completely deadpan. Any other angel or demon or maybe even Sam would read it as Cas being his usual self but Dean knew better. He could see worlds in Cas’s eyes. They’d tell stories if he looked long enough, though he could never manage to stare that long. He’d get called out by Sam, maybe even Cas himself if he was caught making moon eyes at him. It could come off with completely the wrong connotations. It could come off in the way Meg was looking at him now.

Even through her cuts and the bruises, Meg still looked to Cas like he lit the stars. Though in all fairness, he probably did. She’d run off on her usual snarky commentary about leading Crowley to the crypts and what he was after as well as the fact they should probably get going before his other lackeys returned. Dean and Sam drove Baby back to the Mortons where the demon had started building a mini replica of the town, trying to hunt down this missing orchard. The sight of Cas moving towards Meg and wrapping a wing around her twisted in his gut in something he refused to call jealousy. He’d kept his wings on a tight leash and the first sign of them breaking free was to surround Meg with one before taking off. He barely had the time to register it before they’d vanished and empty pit within Dean had returned. Like it had ever left.

In truth, the hotel was only a few blocks from the Mortons and Dean couldn’t decide between racing there to make sure nothing happened between them or driving slowly so that he could get his head in order before getting there. Sam had picked up on it through either his reckless driving or whatever expression was on his face and hesitantly questioned him.  
“So, an angel tablet?” Dean was thankful for the break in silence.  
“We shouldn’t be surprised. I mean Leviathans, Demons, Angels? These tablets are sprouting like daisies. We’ll probably start getting God's Word on the ‘Perfect Pie’ soon. Then and _only_ then will I happily hunt these down.” Sam smiled to himself, somewhat happy that Dean was still joking and not in a furious bubble. At least not yet.  
“What was he like?” Sam started, “I don’t know if it's the same, I doubt it is, but since you told me I’ve been thinking and.. Well when Dad would leave and it was just you and me in some crappy motel, some of the documentaries I watched were about birds -” Deans attentions snapped to Sam, confusion and concern fighting for dominance across his face, “- and their wings are very expressive. Even how they hold them can determine -”  
“Does this have a point?” Dean had no reason for the growing frustration but couldn’t help cutting Sam off regardless. Sam paused before continuing.  
“I just mean that, if it's the same sort of thing, Cas’s wings could be telling you if he’s ok. If their acting out on their own or if they droop down or something, we may be able to get a read on why Cas has been acting so weird. You said you saw them back at Wendy’s and they were -”  
“I know what I said but they’re fine.” Dean turned the final corner before reaching the Mortons house, not entirely ready to go another round with ‘Megstiel’. “They’re fine. I thought I saw something, but he’s fine. At least they were fine enough to wrap around Meg so he must be fine.” He pulled into the driveway and dove out of the car, slamming Baby’s door behind him as he stormed into the house. Sam knowing one too many ‘fine’s when he hears it, left the Impala to join Dean inside.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Once they’d discussed possible locations for the crypt, Sam went to the laptop that was left here when they’d bailed for the Hotel and searched for what could be in the orchards place. Sam and Dean were mostly happy to work in silence in the basement with the 3D tabletop map of the town, though the unasked questions were basically pouring off of Sam like sweat. He could hear the quiet muffled conversation between Cas and Meg through the floorboards and he heard the soft tone Cas was speaking in. It was softer than he’d been all day. Softer than he’d been since.. he honestly couldn’t remember. Perhaps one of the eerie nights in Purgatory when the darkness would last for days. It was awful for keeping track of time as they never sticked to a typical routine like it had topside. No, it would be dark for days, then light for one then dark for another few days. Or it would be light for what seemed a day or two at a time, sometimes up to four or five which really threw him off. Dean eventually gave up trying to track them as normal days. Benny had adjusted to it. Hell, he’d been there for, what Benny estimated, as 50 ‘topside’ years down there. Given the last historical events he remembered before getting there. Even just the one year had thrown away any grip Dean had on time.

Dean remembered specifically, one night shortly after they found him and it was a straight path to the portal, it was Benny and Dean’s turn to sleep and Cas’s turn to watch on guard. Cas didn’t need the sleep, but Dean still insisted he take every few shifts off every now and then. He didn’t know if he’d fully recovered yet from taking on Sam’s burden, so early on he stayed up with Cas. Even if only to make sure he wouldn’t fly off again. Cas kept his piercing gaze buried deep in the forest, flickering in either direction. Just the recollection made Dean feel a little weird. He could only remember it with Cas being wingless. He looked too human. Not at all the creature Dean knew him to be. One made of grace and fire and hurricanes. He remembered leaving Benny's side and standing behind Cas who was kneeling and keeping a firm eye on the surrounding forest.

 _“You sure you’re alright, man? You’ve been on your own for a while now.” Cas barely flinched at his voice, keeping his attention on the surrounding forests._  
_“I am uninjured, though running seems to have somewhat put a strain on -” He hesitated and rolled his shoulders, “- my grace. Keeping it hidden.. it takes work.” Dean, admittedly, tried to see any signs of weakness in Cas’s posture but couldn’t make anything out._  
_“Sit this one out then. Grab a spot by Benny and put that grace to rest. I know you don’t trust him but trust that vampires don’t eat angels. Hell, if the holy water lore wasn’t crap, then your vessel would be dead mans blood or something. Either way I doubt he’d take a bite out of you. Beside that, I wouldn’t let him” He allowed a small smile that he hoped Cas could hear in his voice at least, if he wasn’t looking at him._

_“I’ll keep watch. You should rest.” If Dean was going to be hauling three people through this portal, he would need to be rested. As much as he could be by Purgatory's standards at least. Though more important than that was Cas. Cas who’d been leading the worst of the Purgatory cockroaches away from Dean for however long it had been. He must be exhausted. Dean lowered to his knees and tentatively placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder. That got him the attention he’d been looking for._

_“Get some rest, Cas.” He met those angelic blue eyes and figured, not for the first time, that it couldn’t have been Jimmy’s. No human could have eyes so blue. They’d have to have been altered somehow or even affected by Cas. Eyes were the windows to the soul and all that crap, only Cas didn’t have a soul. Maybe his vessels eyes were a way to his true form. He let a small smile cross his face and hoped he could win the argument using Cas’s own logic. “I’ll watch over you.”_

_Cas’s face had immediately melted from the hard watchman to something soft and thankful. Dean stood, removing his hand from Cas’s shoulder but keeping it outstretched as an invitation. Cas took it, somewhat reluctantly and rose to his feet. They shared a whole conversation through their eyes alone before Dean finally led Cas back to where Benny was sleeping and where he was supposed to be sleeping as well. He’d given it a go but he’d functioned on less sleep than this before. Keeping Cas at full power was a priority. Not only because he was probably the best fighter there, but because Dean needed him there._

_He didn’t need to keep a hold of his hand as they crossed their small area, but he couldn’t find the will in him to let go if it. If he did Cas might have run off again. Now that Cas was standing close enough to Benny’s lying body that they’d be close, but far away enough that he would be comfortable letting his guard down, he turned back to Dean with a question over his face. Whether the question was ‘Why are you doing this?’, or ‘Are you happy now?’, Dean couldn’t tell. Part of him, one he gathered only crossed his mind at all because they were at end times and would most likely die before reaching the portal or trying to get through it, wanted that question to be ‘Would you stay with me?’ He may have even agreed to it. The nights did get awfully cold and curling up to Cas’s warmth would have been preferably to the cold corpse of Benny's body. It was then that he’d finally spoken, in a voice so soft he’d barely heard it._  
_“Thank you, Dean.” That softness brought a swell in Dean and feeling of victory. Yes he’d found Cas and they were on their one way journey to the portal. But more importantly, Cas would stay._

 _Dean was drawn back from the memory by an almost ‘Eureka’ coming from Sam._  
_“All right. According to this, the crypt has to be below an abandoned building.” It was always abandoned building. Not even jokingly, it always was._  
_“Good times.” He was reminded of why he’d thought of Purgatory in the first place when he’d heard the soft muffling again from upstairs. “You really think we can trust Megstiel?”_  
_“No.” His response was almost instant. “But what choice do we have?”_

They had a location and Dean couldn’t be happier for the excuse to interrupt the party upstairs. He helped Sam shove the laptop back into its bag and they head up to where Cas was treating Meg’s more superficial wounds. Dean heard as the muffled whispers turned into audible conversation. He heard the dark tendrils of Meg's voice and they curled to form words.  
“We survive this... I'm gonna order some pizza and we're gonna move some furniture around. You understand?” Dean turned back, waiting for Sam to grab the rest of their things so they could get out of this damn town already. Cas answered hesitantly.  
“No, I.. Wait -- actually…” And that was enough of that, “Yes, I --”  
“Alright,” Dean, perhaps louder than needed, made his presence known. “Let’s roll, campers."  
Cas didn’t acknowledge his interruption. He sat, opposite Meg with his wings lightly twitching. Dean didn’t look at Meg. He didn’t need to. Didn’t want to. He knew what face she’d have smeared across her features like mud. She was so open and forthright when it came to what she wanted and she wanted Cas. Ever since that kiss that had felt like forever ago, she’d clung to him like a tumour. Every time Dean nearly had Cas again she’d be there to mess it all up. Ok, maybe not every time but enough that Dean was sick of her stupid meat suit’s face. He didn’t wait any longer before heading out the door, hoping he wouldn’t have to go back in and pry them apart.


	9. Chapter 9

The growl of Baby’s engine lessened to a purr before falling silent all together. The creak of the Impala’s doors ripped through the silence of the night around them, leaving a jarring feeling in Dean’s gut. The smell surrounding the old warehouse was thick and metallic, undoubtedly from the rusting iron and it only grew stronger the closer they got to the building. He’d decided to himself in the car on the way over that there was no way the four of them could go together to find the tablet. Teams of two was the only smart solution. Two keeping an eye out and two to go tablet hunting. Hell would freeze over before he left Cas with Meg. They’d be stuck making moon eyes at each other that they’d forget their whole purpose here. Sam was staying out here and that was that. He’d seen how Sam was affected by only one trial. He was coughing up blood and acting like he had a serious case of the flu 24/7. He was failing to hide the exhaustion he’d been under so that meant he was at the safe side of tonight. Leaving Dean with Cas. 

 

It’s not like he wouldn’t be appreciative of the time alone. He could ask Cas what the hell had been going on since he returned to Heaven. The distance alone wasn’t exactly out of his norm, he’d always be running off to help in civil wars and whatever. Though the last time he was out on his own he was becoming butt buddies with Crowley and he knew Cas wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. Not on purpose anyway. He seemed to be a little naive when it came to right vs wrong. Intentions be damned, wrong was wrong. He still wasn’t sure Cas had entirely learned his lesson.

 

They approached the long abandoned warehouse, Dean refusing to budge on his assigned teams. No way did he trust Meg to be out of his brothers sights or his own so that was that. He argued his point to his surprisingly stubborn little brother, perhaps even more stubborn than Dean on a bad day. Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the light flutter in his chest when Cas reassured Sam that Dean wouldn't be alone. It was a reassuring feeling that sat right above his sternum. Even if Cas had just told Sam that even  _ he  _ couldn’t heal him from what the trials were doing to him, knowing Cas would at least be here for, maybe only the next hour before flying off again, settled him in a way he knew he shouldn’t get accustomed to. It was an addiction. Everytime he tried to grow used to the feeling that Cas was staying, he’d only leave again. Cas stating, so matter-of-fact like to Sam the Dean wouldn’t be alone was somehow pulled from the context Cas surely meant and was taken within Dean to be replayed later when he would, in fact, be alone.

 

However that flutter twisted into a sharp jab when Cas then claimed Meg needed protecting. Like she was some delicate flower and it pained him to see what Crowley did to her. She was a demon. Who cares if she maybe helped them out once or twice. Demons are dicks. Dean would probably be in a constant debate between who was the bigger bag of dicks, Angels or Demons but as it stood, they both had strong cases against them. He’d rather have a Winchester eye on one when his back was turned. He handed Ruby’s knife to Sam before quickly eyeing off Meg, perhaps second guessing leaving his less-than-fine brother with a demon but ultimately, just wanting this to be over with. He turned and followed Cas inside the building, watching as his wings flexed out, ever so slightly. Dean would have missed it if he looked away just for a moment. They readjusted and sat closely at his sides becoming as still as they had been earlier this morning. That sharp jab had subsided into an ache that clung as his lungs and sunk back into the pit of his stomach. Perhaps being alone with Cas wasn’t such a great idea. 

 

\------------------------

 

The silence that bore into Dean upon their first arrival had been nothing on the empty void that surrounded him now. They had barely made it inside the dank and rusted building before Dean felt the heavy weight of the space between them. Cas walked in front of him, leaving Dean to watch every move he made rather than focusing on why they were here. He watched for any movement of his feathers, any twitch or rustling at all that would break this hard demeanour Cas was drenched in. Even when he spoke he sounded colder than he usually would. That voice that Cas had taken from Jimmy and crafted into his own would never fail to wash Dean of whatever current stress he was wrapped in, even if only for a moment. He watched as Cas eyed the surrounding walls, moving deeper and deeper into the warehouse and finally descending to the basement before the deafening silence began to take its toll. Upon entering the next hallway, Dean moved subtly in front of Cas, holding his flashlight up so it seemed he was more focused than he actually was. In an attempt to break the ice, unable to ask what he actually needed to ask and with a legitimate concern of what Cas had said outside, he broke the silence. 

 

“What did you mean back there. About Sam?” 

“It's difficult to say.” Dean listened to Cas and his baritone voice. Something in the way he formed his words made him sound so definitive. Even if the voice was somehow cold, it even when struggling to form reason, struggling to find conviction, he always _sounded_ so sure of himself. Dean envied that.  “It's something on the subatomic level and his electromagnetic field --”. Dean had to cut him off, the science of it threatening to becoming too much for his head before it even began.  
“Okay, bottom-line it for me, Bill Nye. Is it lethal?” He turned back to Cas, almost making eye contact before the Angel continued to sweep the room.

“I don't know.” He stopped on a, seemingly plain, area of concrete wall. “Wait. There's a draft.” Cas held his hand up as if the draft should be obvious or tangible. Dean stood motionless as Cas faced and inspected the section of wall before adding “There's something behind there.” He shot a brief glance behind him, again not quite meeting Dean’s eye. “Stand back.” 

 

Dean did as he was asked. He took a few steps back until he was stopped by, what Dean thought to be a coil of hose or something on the wall. His heart leapt in place and Dean scanned the room. not entirely sure of the reasoning behind it. He felt very exposed. Perhaps more than he should if one side of him was safe from intruders. He should be more vulnerable in the centre of the room where something can come at him from any side but still his heart raced. He swallowed thickly and forced his attentions back to Cas who now had a hand almost at eye level and pressed firmly on the concrete beneath it. Dean stood frozen as Cas’s feathers moved again before Cas’s wings stretched out, not quite at their full expanse but big enough to show their intention. What intention that was, Dean couldn’t say. Did he spread his wings every time he used his grace, from healing to punching holes in walls? Did he do it on purpose or did they stretch on their own accord? They beat lightly as Dean heard an all too familiar ringing in his ears, though not quite as deafening as it had been the first time. He saw the concrete crack under Castiel's palm and spread in spiderwebs across the wall beneath it. 

 

With a deep rumble from the contrasting pierce of Castiel’s grace, the wall began to crumble. Dean, still frozen in place with the metal coil digging between his shoulder blades, watched as pieces of wall shattered and fell to Cas’s feet. It was like digging into the side of a mountain. They had to be well underground and digging into the earth itself. Say what you will about the asshole, but Lucifer knew how to hide something. If Cas hadn’t picked up on the feint draft through layers of poured cement, they probably never would have found it. Neither Dean nor Cas, considering the warding that would have been around the place. 

 

Once the wall gave way on the other side, they were able to pass through into the open crypt within. Cas turned back again, gesturing lightly for Dean to follow him and began making his way over the jagged chunks of concrete and rock at their feet. Dean pushed himself gently from the wall, suddenly able to find his breath and shone his torch out into the open space. He maneuvered as Cas had over and through the rubble at their feet before meeting Cas at the entry of the crypt, seemingly positioned to remain in place as Dean searched. What was buried in here was not meant for Angels to get their hands on, it would be well hidden or at least, guarded. Dean stepped a little too cautiously around Cas’s wings which were pressed lightly at his sides. They were oddly still again. He noted as he passed that they were still in pretty poor shape. There were feathers bent or out of place, they seemed.. dull? Not at all with the shine they had when he first saw them in the hotel in Illinois. Granted they were still pretty transparent then but Dean could still make out the sheer awesomeness of them. Now they seemed battered and defeated. Perhaps Cas had been too busy with whatever heavenly duties he was out on. 

 

He circled the stone table in the centre of the circular room, donned with all sorts of artifacts and old bits and pieces. Some seemed like the clay sculptures Sam used to make in school. There were urns and statues and a couple of chests. Dean shone his light through the room, partially waiting for something to stick out but also with a sudden urge to ask all the questions that had been at the tip of his tongue for months. They  _ were  _ finally alone, perhaps now was a good time to ask, now that they’d both adjusted to Dean being able to see them. 

 

Just as he parted his lips and began turning to face him, Cas interrupted the conversation that hadn’t begun,

“Dean..” He raised an arm and pointed to the table on the back wall, almost directly behind him. “That’s it.” His eyes fell on a carved, wooden chest sat neatly in the centre of a stone shelf surrounded by more statues and urns. this one also had a golden looking candlestick on either side of it. It looked like every other artifact in the crypt.

“How do you know?”

“It's the only thing in here warded against angels.” Cas replied rather monotonously. He seemed to be back in the same mood he was in when he’d started searching for Alfie. Distant. Reserved. Similar to how he’d been when they’d first met and he was nothing less than the soldier of heaven. Perhaps that was what he’d become again. A soldier in the ranks of their vast army with their sights set on the Angel Tablet. The thought alone sent a worried jolt up Dean’s spine.

 

Dean slid the flashlight under his arm and lifted the surprisingly heavy chest from the shelf. He moved it to the table in the centre of the room and didn’t fail to note Cas walking slowly towards him. He felt around the edges of the chest for a latch or any kind of opening before dipping the tips of his fingers into a crack at the seams. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an old dagger and hoped it would at least be strong enough to pry the thing open. Dean dropped the flashlight to the table, allowing the glow of the light to hit the side wall and gently illuminate the room, just enough to see the project in front of him. Again noting Cas’s movement, but keeping eyes locked firmly on the chest, he worked the tip of the blade into the lip and forced it in with the palm of his hand before prying it open like a crowbar. 

 

Resting the knife back on the table, Dean cautiously placed a hand on either side of the lid and encouraged it open. Once the lid sat open, he was free to pick up the hunk of stone inside, presumably encasing the tablet, if previous experience was anything to go by. He allowed himself a brief smile.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” Dean lowered the lid to the box again and turned to Cas who was now closing in on him with a determined look across his cold features.   
“Good. Hand it to me, and I'll take it to heaven.”

 

Yup. Definitely back to soldier-mode. If Cas was back to his default settings, no way was Dean giving him the tablet to run off with it and probably never have it be seen again. For, perhaps, the first time tonight, they met each other's eyes. The usual warmth behind Cas’ hypnotic, warm blue eyes was gone. Not even a hint of it remained. They’d been replaced with something like sapphire. Still irrevocably beautiful, but hard and precise. Dean began to wonder if  _ his  _ Cas was even in there. 

“No, we’ll take it to Kevin.. so he can translate.”

“Right. Of course.” Even in the darkened crypt, Dean could make out every twitch of feathers. He could hear the ice on his voice. Something was very not right. “I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste.”   
  


Dean just needed to be out of that room. He could feel the stone walls closing around him and the memory of what he’d first seen back in the barn came flooding back. The presence with, probably, the intention of hurting or killing Dean. He was still Cas though, wasn’t he? For once, his flight instinct was taking over. He didn’t want to see this conversation turn sour.  
“Well, he's not that far. I've been meaning to... go check on him, bring him some supplies.” Cas began moving around the table, moving to behind where Dean was standing in small, calculated steps that seemed all too smooth. 

“I can resupply the Prophet, Dean.”

 

Even the way Cas said his name was off. Every time he’d pop in with a ‘Hello Dean’ or he’d simply slip his name into conversation, saying it for the sake of hearing it aloud, it always sounded warm. It was genuine. Even in the same tone, now it seemed a cruel perversion and only sunk his stomach further.  He shielded the tablet in both hands, patting it once or twice as he inched towards the door. He nervously stammered the words,

“You know, why don't, uh, why don't Sam and I take it over to him, and you can get back to your mission?” Cas’s face didn’t falter. It didn’t even move. “Finding the other half of the Demon Tablet.. that is priority, isn't it?”   
  


They both stood in silence for another moment too long before Cas’s voice turned threatening.  
“I can't let you take that, Dean.” Again with his name. Did Cas know how soothing it had been in the past? Dean didn’t even know himself till now the tone sounded icy and harsh. Dean swallowed thickly.

“Can't or won't?” Cas lowered his head. Not enough to meet the floor, just enough that it mimicked the looming threat of his wings which had begun to unfold and stretch at his sides. Dean couldn’t fight the urge to look at the tattered mass of feathers and grip the tablet weakly as his heart skipped two, three beats at a time.

“Both.” His Cas wasn’t there. Or if he was, there was something terribly, terribly wrong. Maybe he could still reason with him. Even if a tiny bit of Cas was still  _ his  _ they could come to some mutual ground.

“Just tell me how you got out of Purgatory. Be honest with me for the first time since you've been back,” Dean gestured to the tablet, held tight between his arms, “and this is yours.”  

 

Cas’s face remained blank, but Dean caught the light twitch of one of his eyes at the word ‘honest’. Maybe he was being a little hypocritical. He hadn’t exactly been honest with Cas. Even with his attentions on those icy sapphires, he couldn’t have missed it. Not if he wanted to. Cas had dropped his angel blade from within his trench coat sleeve and was holding it in a firm grip. A terror clutched around his heart and stole the breath from his lungs. He only drew his eyes back to Cas once he began moving towards him.

“Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this.”

 

Castiel raised the blade and sent it downwards towards him, Dean blocking the hit with the stone causing the same crashing thunder and lightning as the Leviathan tablet had. 

“Cas!” Cas said nothing. He stepped closer and closer to Dean as he moved wearily back to the entryway. His wings began to beat strongly behind him and, had they been more present the strength of the gust probably would have sent him flying. Cas was angry, but he was blank. When Dean caught his eyes again, there was nothing in there. Just the expressionless face and a determination in his movements. 

 

“Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!” Castiel brought the blade down to him again, Dean repeating the motion to block it with the tablet, causing more thunder to rumble and lightning to strike god knows how far above them. Dean’s breath hitched in his lungs as he forced himself to stay on guard, every instinct available to him begging him not to fight back because this was  _ Cas _ . The angel who raised him from perdition, the angel who fell for Dean, who ran in Purgatory to protect Dean. The Angel who had done everything possible in the last few years to  _ save _ Dean. Didn’t Cas deserve the same from him now?

 

Cas remained in front of him, still as a statue once his arm lowered again, as if he was awaiting an order to resume. Other than Jimmy’s vessel, which remained as hard as stone, Cas’s wings were .. shaking? Fighting against themselves. What Dean thought was some bird-language for anger.. Perhaps it was. Only not towards Dean. Yes, they were angry but the way they trembled made them seem almost afraid. Taking his opportunity, Dean raised one hand from the tablet and for the first time, the first intentional time, he reached out and grabbed at, what he guessed would be the shoulder of his wings. He grabbed at the bone that was just above Jimmy’s shoulder in a confused attempt to soothe the flailing wings around him.

 

As if struck by lightning himself, Cas jolted back and out of reach of Dean, bending forward with a genuine fear across his face and turning from Dean. 

“What have you done to me, Naomi?” Dean's gaze followed Cas, yet the rest of him was unable to move. He’d been so thrown by Cas’s breaking that he barely caught the name.

“Who's Naomi? Cas?!” He reached for him again, this time placing the hand on his shoulder rather than trying the wing again. They’d stilled almost immediately on contact and Dean had no idea of that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

 

Cas turned to meet Dean, still with that piercing terror across his face and panting which was now terrifying Dean. Cas had never been this scared before. Whoever Naomi was, Dean had moved well past wanting ‘harsh words’ with her and was thirsty for blood. If she did something to Cas -

 

Before he could finish the thought, Cas struck Dean with a fierce backhand that sent him across the room, crashing into a hard wooden table against a wall and rolling to the floor beneath it. Dean groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get out, get back to Sammy, to Kevin. Give them the damn tablet so he could deal with Cas later. He made one weak step towards the way out before Dean watched Cas land directly in front of him. Whatever momentary lapse he’d had, it’d passed. He was still. Staring at him with those cold, hard eyes and wings beating frantically behind him. Dean’s body fought for him, bringing a hand from the tablet into a fist, completely intended for a momentary distraction so he could leave but Cas caught him mid swing. He forced Dean's arm up under himself without even flinching but Dean heard the break as the bone shattered beneath the muscle. Dean dropped to his knees and cried out as the tablet dropped from his grasp, shattering on the ground below and eliciting another thunderous clap from above. 

 

Castiel dropped Dean’s now useless arm and raised the hand with the grip still tight around the angel blade. He threw punch after punch, colliding squarely on Dean’s jaw and cheek. Dean looked up to him, hoping to see some part of Cas still in there but whatever was wearing him now had shoved Cas somewhere deep and dark. He looked through swollen eyes as Cas glanced casually, almost nonchalantly, to the shattered stone that had encased his precious tablet. Dean forced his voice through his damaged features. 

“You want it? Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first. Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!” 

 

Dean willingly took hit after hit. Cas’s knuckles painting a swath of bruises and cuts across his face. Dean couldn’t feel parts of it anymore. What had been wracked in agony were now achingly numb, though he could still feel the blood trickle down and stain the collar of his shirt. He breathed weakly between each hit.  
“Cas... This isn't you.” Another fist came crashing down, this one connecting with his eye socket, causing it to almost immediately become swollen shut all together. “This isn't you.” 

 

Please.. Please. If Cas was still in there. He had to see what he was doing. Dean heard a shrill ringing in his ears and the pain in his head was throbbing. He’d had enough head wounds before to know when it was serious and this one.. Dean wasn’t sure he could take much more of it. He didn’t have much time. If Cas  _ was  _ in there.. Dean prayed he could hear him. 

“Cas. I know you're in there.” Castiel raised his arm again but instead of holding his fist forward, he aimed the point of the blade directly at him. Dean was going to die. At Castiel's hand. “I know you can hear me.” Dean's voice broke. Partly because he was so weak and bruised he could barely sit upright. With the strength he had, he reached towards Cas, not entirely sure what he was hoping to touch. “Cas…” he begged, “It's me.” 

 

Castiel didn’t move. He stood frozen above the tattered and bloody shell of what used to be his best friend. His family. Maybe even more. He held his grip firmly on the blade in his hand and listened to Dean plead. Who knows if he actually heard anything Dean said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I -” He spluttered on, what he assumed to be blood and wheezed the air back into his lungs. “I should have told you that I could see you. That I could.. Cas..” With one eye completely swollen closed, Dean barely made out the shiver of feathers behind Cas. Half of him didn’t know what he was saying, the other knew every word and the depth of truth behind them. “I’m sorry I didn’t. But please, Cas.  _ Please _ .” He flickered his blurred vision from the unsteady wings behind him and met Cas’s cold stare again. “We need you..  _ I _ need you.”

 

Cas dropped his blade, leaving it to clang loudly on the floor. The harsh noise pulled Dean from whatever strength he had that had held himself up for so long. He collapsed to the stone below him, groaning and panting in pain. As soon as he’d catch one breath it was punched back out by another part of him having the feeling of crippling agony returning. Any adrenaline he’d conjured that kept him sane long enough to beg Cas to stop had faded and he was left feeling every iota of the cuts and swelling across his face. 

 

Having not heard from Cas since he’s dropped the blade, he tentatively turned back to see him reaching for the tablet on the floor. On contact, the scratches lit up and threatened a light supernova, one he’d been warned to not look at before. Hearing faintly the sound of Anna, somewhere, screaming, and a different Cas yelling in unison  _ Shut your eyes! _ prompted Dean to weakly raise his arm to defend himself from the brightening light. He could barely raise it past his chest, his whole being was so tender and stiff.

 

It felt like forever before the light finally faded enough that Dean was sure he was safe before opening them again. Well, his one eye. His other was still closed, weeping blood and tears. Though if it was from crying or the duct being damaged, Dean honestly didn’t know. He looked up to Cas who was fixated on the tablet in his hands. Dean couldn’t even tell which Cas it was anymore. His wings had calmed down at least. That was something. Though he was so close to losing consciousness it may have been a trick on his brain. If soldier-Cas had the tablet, that was all kinds of wrong. Even if Dean couldn’t do anything about it, he had to know if he should be fearing the angel in front of him. He hesitantly reached out to him.

“Cas?” 

 

Cas finally met Dean’s gaze, as if he didn’t know he was there. When the sight of him finally sunk in, Cas looked physically broken. Cas was in there. Whatever that thing was didn’t give a crap about beating Dean to death. The way Cas looked at him now, the hard sapphires in his eyes instantly melted back to deep swimming pools and the waters crashed within Dean, washing away any fear or trepidation for the angel standing over him. Upon seeing Dean and his hearing the softness of his voice, Castiel kneeled to equal Dean’s height on the ground, placing the tablet on the smooth stone by their sides. 

 

He approached with such caution that Dean wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to break. Cas slowly bought his hands to either side of Dean's face, cupping the swollen cheeks in his hand and lightly running a thumb over a still-wet smear of blood on one side. Flinching at the soft touch on such delicate wounds, Dean felt himself tremble, mimicking Cas’s wings which now hung low, looking somewhat defeated. Somewhere through his, still, ringing ears, he heard Cas. His voice was quiet, like it had been in Purgatory..

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” His name. Cas said his name but now it was said with warmth and it was guarded, protected. Whatever the hell just happened, whatever was  _ in  _ Cas, whatever that was. It was over. He could tell from the faint crack in his voice that this was  _ his  _ Cas.

 

Dean barely registered through his one semi-decent eye that Cas was now moving towards him. His heart started pounding erratically in his chest, trying to burst through the cage in some attempt to escape but he wasn’t scared of being hurt. For once Cas wasn’t leaving. He was staying and reaching into Dean. His other eye fell closed as he felt the soft brush of chapped lips meeting his own in a delicate embrace. The throbbing in Dean’s head began to subside and his other eye relaxed from the hard swell and he found that he could open it if he wanted but he wouldn’t. Not when Cas,  _ his  _ Cas had his lips pressed to Deans with such softness, in such an apology before dragging his hands from Dean’s swollen cheeks. Only they weren’t swollen anymore. Cas lightly pulled them back, tracing his fingers lightly under Dean’s jaw as he pulled away. 

 

Once he caught his breath and looked shakily around the room, just to remind himself he hadn’t passed out entirely, he looked back to Cas who was now raising himself from the ground and backing away from Dean. With his arm no longer broken, he pushed himself from the ground, albeit probably more aggressive than he intended. Cas had stepped away and was turning to .. to leave. Of course he was, damn it. 

“Cas.” He ignored him, pausing only to scoop up the tablet he’d left on the floor, then spread his wings as Dean had seen him do too many times already. They were preparing for flight. With a bitter rage curling in his gut, Dean grabbed through the feathers till he hand a hand on the strong bone underneath dragging a quick, hard exhale from Cas before swinging him around to meet his gaze. 

 

“What the hell just happened?” Cas looked at Dean with such a fear, like Dean was going to hit him. What was going through his head, Dean would have loved to know. Suddenly realising Cas may have taken that out of context, he elaborated “Not.. I mean.. What the hell was  _ that _ ? Who’s Naomi?” If Dean wasn’t mistaken, Cas was  _ relieved  _ that Dean didn’t mean.. that other thing. That press of one lips on another that melted all his bruising and swelling away.

“She.. She’s the Angel that saved me from Purgatory.” Dean huffed out a short and bitter laugh. 

“So what, she’s been controlling you this whole time?” Cas struggled to keep eye contact with Dean. He looked down to the tablet in his hands, fiddling with it like a scolded child. 

“Not quite.” He murmured. “It’s only been since I returned to Heaven.”

 

Dean thought back to when he’d seen Cas since then. The shifty questions, the vacant second-long stares.. Practically everything about the poor weiner-on-a-stick kid. Rather than thinking of how differently his death must have gone, Dean figured they’ve gotten this far.. Why not push his luck?

“What broke the connection?” Cas's looked down to the tablet, as if it would have some answers but was only met with silence. No rumblings of thunder. No flashes of lightning. Just a silence that hung between them. Dean couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“Do you know what you did to me?” He heard his own voice quiver, afraid of the answer. 

Cas’s eyes shot up from the tablet, immediately disregarding it and allowing the arm holding it to drop to his side as if it was the most meaningless thing in the world to him. Pain and empathy coated his words like a thick honey. 

“Dean, I didn’t  _ want  _ to hurt you. I -”

“No, Cas not -” Dean took a step towards him, pausing briefly when Cas’s wings tensed and ruffled lightly, “not  _ this. _ ”

 

He kept his gaze, as if he was approaching a wounded animal and for all he knew, it was more or less the same. If he startled Cas the wrong way he could take off and not come back like he was so prone to do. Dean couldn’t have him run again. Not now. He held one hand up cautiously, almost at chest height and once he was within reach, he tentatively reached back to Cas's wings. Cas froze in place, stiff and rigid as Dean ran his fingers through the soft feathers over his shoulder. His breath hitched as Dean dragged his palm across the curve of the bone and he let out an involuntary sigh. Dean watched carefully, wanting to make sure he didn't hurt him. He knew nothing about wings. He was definitely in no position to know what hurt and what wouldn't.

  
“Did you know.. That you did  _ this _ ?” 


	10. Chapter 10

  
Castiel had every intention of moving away. He did. But the feel of Dean’s strong fingers tracing delicate paths through his alula and coverts sent a paralysing chill up his spine. He felt himself hold back a shaky breath. If he broke into a pant, he would most likely scare Dean away all together. He already broke through the careful boundaries of their friendship by kissing him. Castiel didn’t necessarily intend to, but the sight of what he’d done to Dean had broken his heart. He was compelled by an urge to show Dean his apology, as if something as simple as words were too weak to convey the meaning. He’d pushed his grace past his lips and healed Dean in the most delicate way he knew. Not that the usual method of two fingers placed on the subjects skin was particularly unpleasant. Castiel felt that the extent of the damage, if healed too suddenly, could frighten Dean and throw him off his guard. Upon reflection, the kiss most likely had the same outcome.

Castiel wings shuddered and trembled at the soft touch. Dean had reached for them tentatively, as if he was afraid of hurting him. Now that Dean must have noted that he wasn’t causing any pain, he darted his fingers through them in an attempt to explore them. Castiel remained frozen. Dean surely didn’t understand the implications of what he was doing, what _this_ was doing to him. With Dean’s growing comfort with Castiel’s wings, Dean would undoubtedly want to see more.. Touch more of his feathers and no.. He couldn't. Not without understanding what it meant.

Being as gentle and as slow as possible, Castiel flexed his wings out in an attempt to discourage Dean. Not throw him back entirely, just enough to free Castiel of distraction so that he may speak to him unhindered. Dean watched as the wings reached out and brought themselves back around him, almost cradled at his sides. He’d never been so aware of them and was suddenly noting every movement they made. He knew Dean had seen them before but .. It must have been something Naomi deemed unimportant seeing as she planned to dispose of Dean anyway. She’d pushed the concern and the anxiety away in order to focus on his mission. Now that she was gone, irrefutably gone, Castiel was able to see the wonder in Dean’s eyes as he watched every movement of the wings, from how they stretched around him, down to the subtle flicker of twitching feathers.

Not once had Castiel turned his attentions away from Dean. He saw every tense of his jaw, each time he swallowed and his Adam's apple would dance in his throat. Castiel, fresh with the feeling of Dean’s fingers through his feathers had a sudden compulsion to latch onto that throat and suck and bite at the flesh until he left his claim on Dean. He’d already laid claim on his soul in hell. Though of course he’d never tell Dean that. He was selfish and upon seeing the Righteous Man, seeing what a bright and beautiful soul he had,even when broken, he’s laid claim to him. As he came to know Dean once he’d come out of hell, he knew he was a much different man than the one he dragged from perdition. He was, by all measures, the same man. But in hell he’d had nothing to hide. Nothing to fear, other than Alistair's torments. On earth, however, Dean was much more reserved. He hid so many parts of himself and it pained Castiel to watch his Adonis in a downward spiral of self loathing that he was unable to fix. Not without showing him what he’d done to his soul.

So when he’d asked ' _do you know that you did this'_ , it wasn’t in fear. It wasn’t another layer of self hate stacked on the Dean Winchester pile of guilt. It was honest. It was open. And Castiel could see in Dean's perfect, peridot eyes that he was in awe. This beautiful man of whom he had no right clinging to, no right to lay any claim to, was in awe of Castiel.

Having some of the months since Purgatory somewhat altered.. No. He didn’t know what he’d done. He figured his answer was fairly obvious with the way he’d reacted in the motel room when he’d first touched them.   
“How long?” They were the only words he could manage to string together. Before Dean could give his reply, however Sam came tearing into the room, panic flush across his face.

“Dean!?” Sam clearly hadn’t registered how close Dean was standing to him. Dean on the other hand, as soon as he’d heard the heavy footfall he'd taken a great step back just as Sam had reached the crypt. “We gotta go. Now.”

Castiel, still focused intently on Dean, didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered back to him reluctantly before following Sam out of the crypt.

  
\--------------------------------------------

Castiel had to admit, seeing the Angel blade pass through Meg and extinguish her brilliant light was upsetting. He'd become somewhat attached to the demon. She was so much more than that. She was a diamond in the seeping ooze that was hells cesspool. She had been Lucifers daughter. She was above the other demons. She was better. He'd truly love to have known if he could rearrange furniture with her. The way she insinuated it meant something other than the actual movement of tables and chairs seemed delightful. Especially with that wicked smirk she was so fond of in Castiel's presence. Though now, the way her smile sank away into nothing as she saw Sam and Dean slip into the Impala, not knowing Castiel had hidden himself in the backseat, and how Crowley plunged the silver blade into her chest, he'd felt his last thread of hope ripped from him. An angel caring for a demon. His father would be so proud.

As the light died from her eyes, castiel turned back to the front of the impala. Not able to see, not wanting to see her lifeless meat suit dropping to the ground. They did have to leave. They had the tablet and Crowley had his whore. Once they'd return to this bunker that Dean, quite frankly, raved about for the rest of the drive, he was sure it'd be warded safely against Angel and demon alike. Sensibly, they couldn't bring Meg with them. She was prone to backstabbing, even if she had been somewhat loyal recently. She'd cared for Cas when he'd taken on Sam’s burden and he saw the world in a different light. Saw her for the beauty that she was, even after being twisted by hell and Lucifer. She was alluring, before paying any mind to the mask of her vessel. He'd miss her. However, it wasn’t the first time the angel had witnessed the death of something extraordinary.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam pulled the key from the intricate Men of Letters wooden box. Dean, however, couldn’t pull his focus off of Cas and the fact that he was still here. He hadn’t bailed on him from the car ride over. He didn’t take the first opportunity to grab the tablet and run, or fly, as it were. Dean even had to cover the smile that came from seeing Cas’, frankly, gorgeous wings in the backseat of his Baby, even if they did pass through her. Since they’d left the warehouse, the colour had started to return to the tips of Cas's wings but Dean didn’t want to say anything. This was still a little too sensitive and he could tell that even Sam knew it was a topic for when they were finally home. To give himself something to focus on other than the thick silence in the car, other than Baby’s motor, he started to describe the bunker to Cas. He told him about the library and the kitchen. He’d told him, completely aware of the blush travelling up the back of his ears, about the amazing water pressure in the showers. He told him about the old computers that seemed to litter the place. He didn’t even know if half of them worked, or if they _did_ work he had no idea what they did. Either way, it was building to Dean finally showing Cas a place he could maybe call home as well.

Sam pushed through the heavy iron door and led the way down to the main entry way. Staying behind Cas, Dean kept his gaze focused on his wings and how he maneuvered them through the walkways and down the flights of stairs. He knew the first place he’d take Cas was his room. Or _a_ room for Cas. Not like.. Not like _that_ , just somewhere private so they could finally talk. He tried, only weakly, to suppress the fluttering in his stomach.

After the obligatory tour with Sam as their guide, Dean was, by no means, looking like a happy puppy with a semi permanent smile on his face. Sam knew exactly where the tour had to end. Dean’s room. Sam had picked a room a couple of halls down. There was all the space in the world and, having spent almost their entire lives attached at the hip, they took the opportunity to truly have their own space. With a not-so-subtle nod to Dean, Sam dramatically ended his ‘Official Bunker Tour’, directing Cas to the lobby should he need a make-believe brochure on the residences facilities and and nearby attractions. He gave a quick smile and excused himself, with the very legitimate task of heading out to collect Kevin who’d be moving in now as well. It only seemed silly to have him anywhere else. This was one of the safest places in the world. With Sam going to get Kevin, they’d have hours - a day even, to finally get everything out in the open.

It was strange. In the time they’d had apart when Cas had first come back, they had no problem talking as often as they had in Purgatory. They were on the phone from seemingly opposite ends of the world and they'd still have everything to talk about. They were like a couple of high school kids, constantly talking whenever they’d have a spare minute. When that just stopped, Dean didn’t know how he’d done it. They’d never spoken as much as they had in those two weeks. He hadn’t spoken with _anyone_ outside of Sam that much in.. Ever. Now that he was here and they could actually hold a conversation, Dean found his words had failed to form on the tip of his tongue.

Dean showed Cas's through to the last room of the tour. His. He opened his door and guided Cas in, showing him his arrangement of weapons and vinyls that he could now play for him. He rambled on about everything in the room that wasn’t important until Cas stopped from tracing his finger through Dean’s vinyl collection and cut him off. He spoke softly, but still managed to convey the urgency in his words.  
“Dean. As much as I enjoy this place, we.. Have more pressing issues to discuss.” He placed the Led Zeppelin vinyl back in its place and turning to face Dean who had only now realised how thick the air in the room had become. This was it. There was no way of avoiding it now and Dean didn’t know if that made his stomach do somersaults from relief or anxiety. Maybe it was both. He moved towards the edge of his bed and sat heavily on the memory-foam mattress. One of the many items in this room that had grown to be a comfort and a distraction on their first arrival.   
“I know, Cas.” He took a breath, searching for a decent starting place but came up with nothing. “You know, I have no idea where to start so why don’t you just ask and I’ll -”  
“How long?” This seemed like a much easier road. Dean could answer questions. He could answer with short and sweet answers. It saved him summarising the last few months. A task he knew he wasn’t capable of. He barely managed to get it out to Sammy.

“Since you’ve been back. Pretty much.”  
“How?”  
“I don't know, I thought..” _Oh_ … Dean realised much too slowly that Cas was only talking about his wings. He didn’t know about the dreams as well. “It’s not..” Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean figured this just got a whole lot harder. “It’s more than that, Cas. It’s more than -” He gestured behind Cas, knowing full well he’d know what he meant, _'that'_. He watched as Cas’s curious brow hardened into something more, something like fear. Like panic. _Damn it_.

“When you got back. You fixed that memory of Purgatory. You wanted to show me that I didn’t fail you.” Cas's listened intently. “Which you did. Granted, it hurt. You didn’t deserve to be left in there even if that's what you wanted, what you thought you deserved, you were wrong.” His wings rustled lightly behind him and Cas, knowing full well that Dean could see every movement now, made every effort to conceal it. He parted his lips, clearly ready to argue what he deserved but Dean held up a hand. “Let me finish. You fixed it. But I think.. Unintentionally.. You _fixed_ some others too.” Cas, keeping on Dean’s request, allowed him to finish, though the questions he clearly had were on the very tip of those full and chapped lips. To hell with it. Sam or, more likely Dad, wasn’t here to call him a girl. He needed Cas to know what he did. He may as well go all out and just say it.

“I dreamed of you after that.” He dropped his head to the ground, leaning on his knees and playing absentmindedly with his fingers in an attempt to distract himself from the very obvious weight of Cas’s gaze. “In the barn, when I first saw you only this time I could see your wings. They were barely there, all see-through and.. but I could still see them. This was while you were off saving the world.” He made a light gesture to nowhere in particular and allowed himself a small smile. “I figured I was probably drunk or something and … I don’t know. It figured it was a once off so I ignored it.”

He heard the feathers rather than saw them. It was only a slight movement, he fought to keep his eyes cast downward. He didn’t think he could bare to look at Cas while more or less baring himself like a damn schoolgirl.   
“But then I had another one. It was back when Sam didn’t have his soul and you were trying to find Balthazar's name on that kid. It was the same as the barn, you had your wings only they were more.. There.. Less transparent. And ..” This was going to be _much_ harder than Dean initially anticipated. “I don’t know, man, something was different.” He finally looked up to Cas's who was nearly paralysed with a look of horror. Similar to when Dean had first pushed passed him in Illinois. He tried to continue, he did, but a whole new concern had bubbled to the surface and Dean found himself very worried of his little revelation and he hadn’t even gotten to the best part.

He stood and moved towards Cas, not really sure what drove him but his hand was now on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.   
“Hey, Cas?” Cas was looking straight at Dean. Not the usual fierce glare he’d seen so many times before as if Cas was trying to unravel some great mystery. They way he looked at Dean now, he was looking _into_ him. “Cas, I was really hoping for a for a bit of give and take here.” Giving another small smile, again trying to to inject some humour in the tense situation. After no reply, he started getting worried again. “Cas!”

Cas pulled his gaze back out from however deep it had nested inside of Dean and his wings pressed in tightly at his sides.   
“My apologies.” He glanced over Dean’s shoulder, suddenly hesitant to meet his eye.  
“Don’t give me that crap. If I can be all soul-baring with you you can give me the courtesy of the same thing.”  
“Dean, Angels don’t have souls. I’d be unable to bare one to you even if I wanted.” Dean dropped his arm from Cas’s shoulder and sighed heavily, fighting from curling his hand into a fist. He had no intentions of punching him, he was just _really_ not well versed in this whole ‘sharing stories’ crap.

“Cas?” He snaked his head in the way of Cas’s line of sight. Finally meeting his stare, Dean was able to catch the perfect blue of Cas behind Jimmy’s eyes. The voice that came through those lips that Dean had, more than once, forced himself to tear his attentions from, definitely belonged to Cas.  
“What else did you see?”

Back to questions. Dean could do that. Though what else he saw was going to raise a whole new set of questions. Perhaps ones that weren't so easy.  
“I saw.. Well.. More heard.. Crowley confronting you in Lisa’s backyard. I know he asked you to be butt-buddies, not the other way around.” Cas's face began to melt back into that worried look, as if Dean was somehow ashamed of him. He broke through the terror to ask again,  
“Dean, this is important. Was there anything else you saw?”

Just the one. He’d held it till the end because.. Frankly he didn’t know how Cas's was going to react to it. He hadn’t exactly taken the others easily and Dean had some questions about this one all on his own. So tentatively, he took a half step back, more leaning away so he could completely admire the way Cas’s wings flared out when he uttered one single word.  
“Hell.”

He could practically feel the grace shifting inside of Cas. His wings beat hard behind him, barely once or twice as Cas's had noticed and reeled them tightly back by his side. They really were incredible, but they still looked damaged. They didn’t shine as they had used to and they looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Rather than let Cas's dwell on the fact he saw him in hell, perhaps he could offer something that he maybe needed.   
“Cas, stop it.” He moved forwards again, closer than before, reaching back to the curve of his wing and stroked the inner feathers till they seemed, somewhat, less tense. _They_ seemed less tense. Cas on the other hand had almost turned to statue at the gesture. “Stop _this_.. Whatever this is. Pulling them back in and worrying about every damn thing they do. Before you knew you were so relaxed. Why are you freaking out about them now? It’s only _me_ , man”  
“Dean, you don’t understand.. They -”  
“And what is this?” He ran his fingers over a few stray feathers. “Why is there feathers and shit sticking everywhere? Aren’t you meant to.. I don't know, groom them or something?”

Dean watched the rapid rise and fall of Cas’s shoulders. He was clearly overwhelmed with everything Dean had shared, especially when it came to Hell or his wings. Maybe.. Just maybe getting groomed was relaxing? Like a massage but not quite as erotic between two friends, given that one of the friends was an Angel. Did Angels do this for each other? There must be some hard to reach places. Maybe if he offered to help Cas, he could relax a little? He pushed forward with extreme caution.  
“I could help you? I mean.. Straightening up some of these feathers or something? I’m not a walking _‘Wing Encyclopedia’_ but they can't be comfortable like that?”

Cas’s glare was frozen on horrified but the way his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched, you’d think Dean just asked to bed him or something. Crap, what if grooming was something intimate. He’d know a hell of a lot more if Cas actually spoke to him.  
“Cas, you gotta give me something. I don’t know what I’m doing here and it doesn't help if you don't at least pretend to contribute.” Even if Cas was here, in the bunker, not leaving, Dean was getting real tired of Cas’ distance. He’d gone so long.. So long without saying a word to him. Now, when they had so much to say, so much that needed saying, he wouldn't even offer up some answers. They weren’t in any screaming hurry. Sam would be gone for 12 hours at least. Dean wasn’t going anywhere. That just left Cas.

All he’d done since the mention of Hell was freeze up entirely and hold his wings close beside him, as if he was afraid that even moving would give something up. Dean suddenly all too tired of the one sided conversation decided, fine. Cas wanted it one sided. That's what he’d get.

Dean took a step closer, all but inches away from Cas in an attempt to wholly have the Angel's attention.   
“Fine. You don’t want to talk? Then listen. I saw you that day with Crowley. You were going to ask for my help but you didn’t.” Dean's voice deepened as a bit of anger poured through the wall he tried to keep cool and rational. “I saw you in hell. I saw you bust in like the Terminator and you convinced me to say ‘yes’ without hardly saying a word. Then you rode me out like Michael was supposed to do only I never gave him the satisfaction. I know you’ve been in here Cas. I know I said ‘Yes’ to you. But you know what I figured out. All on my own?” He watched through his peripheral as Cas's wings stretched out, feathers trembling at the weight of Dean's words. His eyes were dragged down to the lump in Cas’s throat he was frantically trying to swallow, making his Adam's Apple bob up and down and the sight made Dean clench his jaw and hold back a damn growl. He lowered his voice to a quiet, almost purr and continued, “‘Yes’ doesn’t leave a _brand_.”

Knowing full well it had returned, It had come back soon after Dean started having these dreams, he ripped his jacket off and tossed it rather angrily to the floor below, leaving him in his dark grey Henley. He turned and pulled the sleeve of his left shoulder up, showing the reddened brand of what he knew was Castiel's mark. Cas was all but panting, lips slightly parted and horror seeping deep into those glacial eyes.   
“Dean… I..”

Dean lowered the sleeve and shoved Cas back, taking him off guard and slamming him into the wall behind him. It had started as a gesture born of anger. Angry at the lies, the distance, the abandonment. Cas’ wings stretched out flush against the off white paint in the only clear space by the door to his room, he kept his eyes focused on Dean who’d followed him and had him pressed there with a forearm to his throat. Dean had all but had enough of Cas and his silence. It had started that way but quickly birthed into something more. He watched Cas’s eyes flicker between Dean’s and his mouth. Dean had every intention of cursing him up and down, the rage inside him beginning to boil. Where Cas’ lips were failing him, his eyes were certainly doing most of the talking. He was fixated on Dean and not in the way he had in the crypt. The kiss in the crypt had been soft and nurturing. The way Cas's looked at him now.. He was hungry.

Dean crashed into Cas, their lips meeting in a desperate battle as if they’d been born to it. The surprised muffle from Cas quickly melted into an enthusiastic groan as his arms left his sides and curled around Dean's back. Mirroring the movement, Cas’s wings surrounded and locked them close together, as if Dean had any intentions of leaving. Dean brought his branded arm up to Cas’s jaw, sliding a hand over the faint stubble and rubbing a thumb over the tip of his chin, urging his lips further apart. Their mouths parted for a brief moment before Dean dragged them together again, plunging a tongue passed Cas’ lips.

Another noise of surprise was muffled in the back of Cas' throat as he started working the edge of Dean’s Henley out of the folds of his jeans. He slid his fingers up and over the warm muscles beneath it earning him a breathy pant from Dean between kisses, but only deepening his hunger, causing him to press closer into Cas. Dean, still with a hand over Cas’ jaw and an elbow over his chest, was the perfect embodiment of everything they’d fought at for years. One half constantly pushing away with the other holding on desperately, begging them not to leave. Breaking the stupid metaphor entirely, Dean finally removed his arm from below Cas's throat and brought it down to press at the small of his back, persuading his legs slightly apart so Dean could slide one thigh between them.

The instant Dean felt Cas’ strain on the inside of his thigh, something broke from the haze and pulled him back, meeting the pleading want in Cas’ eye. Dean’s wanted this for years. He knows that. He’s not a complete idiot, but he knew it wasn't possible so he didn’t even want to entertain the thought. Not with Cas never hanging around long enough to see if they actually could. But now he had him, against his damn bedroom wall and pupils so dilated that he can barely make out the perfect blue around them. They stared at each other for a moment, silent, but for the heavy panting between them.

Experimentally, Dean rolls his hips, pressing himself up and seeking any sweet friction from the Angel in front of him. He’s rewarded with the sound of Cas pressing his head against the wall behind him and meeting Dean in a slow grind. He couldn't bring himself to pull his eyes away. The vision before him was simply that. A gorgeous vision. Cas’s lips were pink and swollen from the bruising kisses and the way his gravelled voice curled around Dean's name as he rhythmically pressed against him is nothing less than beautiful. The shadow of Cas' wings blocking out the outside world are more or less irrelevant. There’s no where Dean would rather be.

Dean directed Cas back into another hungry kiss, delving his tongue inside in a show of dominance, one that Cas willingly offered up. He pushed back for a brief moment, long enough to lift his Henley over his head and throw it to some other corner of the room. Between fervent kisses, Dean managed to slip out,  
“Cas.. How.. How does.. Cas stop.” He grabs Cas's by the shoulders, forcing them to break the kiss but keeping their bodies locked together, any breath between them causing them rut lightly against each other. He nods towards the wings behind him. “Your wings, Cas? How am I.. How..” He lets out a light laugh which is only returned by the signature confusion draped across Cas’s features.   
“Dean.” God, his voice.. It’s melted into a thick growl and the way it curls around his name makes Dean draw in a sharp breath, “Only you can see them. They’re still not wholly and physically on this plane of existence.”

Well, when he put it that way he felt stupid for asking. Dean breathed out another small laugh before grabbing the lapel of Cas’s trench coat, paying no mind to the feathered limbs protruding from it as it slid easily from his back and down behind him onto the floor. Cas watched Dean intently as he then moved to the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing one at a time. Dean was thankful for the change of pace. He needed the brief moment to catch his breath and, part of him figured he should check if this was actually the right thing. He'd wanted Cas, God knows he’d wanted Cas but, being the Angel that he was, a ‘being of celestial intent’ and more, more than Dean could ever comprehend.. Did Cas want this too? He wasn’t exactly putting up a fight.

With downcast eyes, focused on each of the buttons as he worked them undone and taking a moment in between to truly appreciate what Jimmy had given to Cas and what Cas had rebuilt into his own, he asked in a small but clear voice.   
“Cas..” He felt the body beneath his hands tense and not at all for the first time today. “I…” He caught his ragged breath. “Do you want this?” He forced himself to look up from the last button of Cas’s shirt, just as it had fallen free and allowed Dean a brief glimpse of the body that had been hiding beneath ill-fitted clothing. Cas was actually blushing. Not a deep beetroot as Dean could turn when he attempted to flirt with guys, _(thank God for poor bar lighting)_ , Cas had the faintest shade of pink dabbed across the tops of his cheekbones and connected across the bridge of his nose. The only thing that withdrew the whole innocent impression was the constant hunger shrouded by dilated pupils. Cas tentatively leant forward, pressing himself further into Dean and slowly drew his face beside his to whisper in his ear.  
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

With a short gasp, Dean pulled away, once again meeting the utter arousal pouring from Cas expression. Allowing a brief moment, just one more, giving Cas the chance to back out, he was met only with silence and that piercing blue stare. Not having to be told twice, he moved back in, shoving at the edges of his shirt, pushing them over Cas's shoulders and allowing him to work his arms out of the sleeves. As he discarded the shirt, Dean latched onto Cas’s throat, at the flesh that had been teasing him whenever he caught a glimpse. He laved his tongue over the pressure point where his ear met his jawline and Cas all but melted into Dean. He spilled out groans in long, dark breaths and they only increased when Dean started to suck at the flesh, lightly grazing his teeth into the skin. Cas’ moans became more voiced and less of the strained air that had been breathed out before. Upon resuming the rhythmic grind into Cas, Dean heard the strong beat of Cas’s wings.

Had he opened his eyes, he could probably make out the fluttering and trembling of the feathers as they spread out from cocooning them in place. Not to miss the opportunity, Dean pulled a hand from around the back of Cas’ head, holding him in place as he left his own brand on his neck and moved it up to the crest of Cas’s wing, pressing the strong bone against the wall. The cry that had been drawn from Cas was all he needed. All he needed to know that it didn’t hurt him. That it didn’t scare him anymore. Cas enjoyed, no craved the attention on his wings. With his voice thick and heavy with want, Cas managed to groan out,  
“Dean.. I… Dean, my wings..”

Crap. Had he hurt him? He pulled back immediately, meeting the eyes of the Angel and saw no pain. No anger. Only something warm and wanting. He let him continue.  
“To.. To touch them, the way you are now, _means_ something. I should have spoken earlier.” Dean could see him visibly trying to regain his shaking breath and a worry had begun to form in his gut.   
“Do you want me to stop?” In all honestly he didn't know if he could. He’d become _infatuated_ with the great black shadows. He could barely imagine Cas without them now. They were a part of him and Dean wanted to explore them as much as Cas would let him. If he was breaking some secret Angel taboo by touching them.. He didn’t know what he would do.

Almost shocked by the question, Cas immediately replied.   
“No! No… I .. I only meant that it holds a higher purpose amongst Angels. More so than just touching an arm or.. It is sacred Dean.”  
Oh. So was is something they would work up to? Dean had to bite back the annoyance. They’d been working up to _this_ for years. Hadn’t they waited long enough?  
“Dean, I want you to. I simply wanted you to know the full implications before proceeding. It feels very pleasurable.”

A smile crept across his face and dissolved any worry that had begun to form. Cas wanted him to do this. He may not have intentionally meant for Dean to see or feel his wings, but he wanted Dean to, even given its ‘heavenly’ importance. Hell, _because_ of it.

And it felt _good._

Saving that bit of information for later, Dean smiled as he admired the bruise on Cas’ throat that would, no doubt, last for days. Even by Angel healing standards. He placed a heated kiss to the spot before moving down over Cas’s collarbone and pressing his lips to every patch of skin in his path.

Drawing both his hands to Cas's hips, he continued rutting against him as he drew an erect nipple into his mouth, circling his tongue over it and lightly biting down on the nub. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of Cas's chest, he huffed out another small laugh, partly at his own victory of unravelling the damn enigma that had been plaguing him since the damn barn all those years ago, but mostly because it was evident that Cas was enjoying this as much as he was.   
“I don't… Oh.. I don’t see what's so funny, Dean. Typically the -” He choked out another moan as Dean switched sides, “- the joining of two people is not a humourous ordeal.”

Dean, having felt he’d teased Cas sufficiently, for now anyway, traced his lips and his tongue down Cas’s abs, dipping quickly into his navel before pulling back and sinking to his knees.   
“Speaking from experience, Cas?” He looked up at him through lowered eyelashes, somewhat wanting to answer his query, but mostly focused on undoing the dress pants and what was beneath them.  
“I only mean that there's no comedic properties to what we are about to undertake, at least not to my understanding.”

Smiling, Dean kept his focus on the breathless man above him, only faltering momentarily once he’d succeeded in pulling Cas from his pants, letting the fabric fall and pool messily around his ankles. Dean admired the whole of him, naked and displayed for him in nothing but his blue tie, allowing a brief lick of his lips before meeting his gaze again.   
“Then let's see if I can get a smile from you.”

Dean started slow. To his knowledge, Cas had never been with anyone like this, human or Angel. He’d told him he’d never ‘had occasion’ and he can’t imagine he'd have done much cloud-seeding since then. He wasn’t exactly Heaven’s poster boy. He had no idea how an Angel would react, though he seemed to be on a pretty good roll so far. Cas had found somewhat equal grounds when it came to physical sensations from when they’d first met. Then, Dean and his patented right hook didn't even leave a mark on the Angel. Hell, he’d barely even moved. Though now he was able to suck lingering bites into his flesh and feel the twitching of his skin under feathered touches. Having bounced between full fledged Angel and Fallen from Grace more times than any Angel had any right to, Dean figured it was just enough to allow Cas’s to experience whatever he damn well pleased. Cas deserved it.

Somewhat gingerly, gauging Cas’ reactions, Dean wrapped one hand around Cas’ length and tightened. Not so tight as he would later on, just tight enough to earn himself a sharp gasp from the angel watching him intently. Unable to hold back any longer, not with everything he’s ever wanted presented so openly before him, Dean makes a long slow stroke with his tongue from base to tip, dipping his tongue in the slit at the top. Savouring the taste of Cas, a taste more than the masculinity of his vessel, but the taste of thunderstorms and ocean winds, of holy fire and ash. Dean moaned in unison with the heavy panting above him as he swirled his tongue around the glans, looking up through lowered lashes and catching the eye of Cas who hasn't once looked away. Almost pausing, Dean brings the hand still resting on Cas’ hip and slides them under to experimentally roll his balls between his deft fingers.

Before Cas can respond and still with his attentions glued to Cas and any reaction he can hope to drag out of him, Dean pushes slowly forwards, taking him down in one gentle and fluid motion. He can just about feel Cas’ legs begin to quiver and his wings have mostly stilled except for the an equal trembling in the feathers. Perhaps it was rather cruel to introduce Cas to this while leaving him standing. Even if he was an all mighty Angel, Dean was fairly schooled in how to pull a man apart, vessel or not, and he savoured every gasp and shuddered breath he could pull from the enigma above him. Something between the vast array of noises pouring from Cas was seemingly missing and with the realisation, Dean drew back and off of Cas with an obscene pop to note that his hands are pressed flat on the wall behind him. Beginning to heavily pant himself, Dean smirked once more and decided no, no that won't do at all. Leaning back slightly on his knees, much to the dismay of Cas and he gives an actual whimper when he moves away, Dean, still with one hand around his heavy, red cock, reached for Cas’ hand and gently pulled it off the wall. With a confusion that seemed to be overshadowed by lust, he allowed him to guide his hand to the back of Dean's head and rest it in his chestnut hair, the other hand following suit.

After, what Dean’s considered a sufficient introduction, he wanted nothing more than to make this good for Cas. Make it so much more than a desperate meeting of flesh. He wants to thank Cas. He wants to unravel him and build him back as he’d done to Dean so many times. He kept his tight grip around Cas’ twitching length as he stroked it from base to tip, smearing the oozing precome down and around the head. Delving in, Dean plunged his tongue between and around each of Cas’ balls, eliciting a whole new wave of desperate pleas and choked out versions of Dean’s name. Running his hand up and down his quivering shaft, he sucked one, then the other into his mouth, lazily rolling them around his tongue before pulling back and swallowing Cas down in another swift motion. Hollowing out his cheeks, he buried his nose in the thick hair at the base of his cock. Dean swallowed around him, contracting his throat around the head and pulling out all sorts of gorgeous sounds. The hands that had been caressing his hair somewhat tenderly had gripped tight at the convulsions and was now pulling at it sharply.

Dean moaned around Cas in encouragement every time his fingers curls through his hair. Before too long, Cas is guiding Dean. He thrusts forward, tentatively at first but after a few more appreciative moans from Dean, he’s practically fucking his face. Dean, taking the unspoken instruction removes his hands and glides them up Cas’ thighs, holding on and holding him close. With Cas’ hand fisted in Dean’s hair, harshly dragging him into whichever tilt or position he needs, Dean almost goes limp, allowing Cas to force him into place or forcing his head at a slight angle. After a few more thrusts, Dean recognises the sharp, quick breaths and his back arching off the bedroom wall.

_Not yet._

He pulls off of Cas with another crude sound and grabs at the base of Cas’ length tightly, the other hand placed firmly on the wall behind Cas to fight off the tugging at his hair. Cas pulls sharply at his hair again, which is now almost being used as a punishment for backing off when he did but it still feels so damn good that Dean can’t hold back the moan it rips from him.

Rising to his feet again, Dean caught the end of Cas’ disappointed panting with lips, darting an apologetic tongue across his and biting gently at the bottom lip as he pulled away.   
“Not yet, hot wings” He purred as he mouthed gently at the underside of Cas’ other earlobe, occasionally dragging it between his teeth and sucking lightly. Dean made a weak attempt at calming his own panting breath but his own neglected cock is still pressing hard on the inside of his jeans, the pressure too much, yet not enough.

Once Cas regained his composure, his whole being shifted. What was a shivering, lustful Angel had turned into something dark. Something predatory. When Dean caught his eye after he had seemed to recovered from the come-down, what colour he could make out behind the blown pupils was saturated with heat. Dean had never seen such a fire in eyes so blue. With a strong beat of his wings, Cas all but growled as he seized Dean by the shoulders. In an instant, Cas had moved him back from his dominant position against the wall and had him back against the softness of his memory foam mattress and meticulously made bedspread, any clothes spare for his tie, left at the other end of the room. He straddled Dean, hands pressed to his chest and wings spread wide. Dean’s hands automatically sank to his hips and felt Cas’ weight press down on him.

Dean took pride in his new bedroom and the neatness of it. Having a place to call his own was something special to him, seeing as he’d never had it before. He’d like to say he’d gotten used to it over the years, but he could never really be comfortable in a by-the-hour motel with funky stains and funkier smells. His room was crisp. It was clean. The thought that his pristine bed may not be after whatever they were were about to undertake sent a new wave of fire through his blood.

“Jesus Cas, give a guy some warning.” Dean's erection was still throbbing and rubbing desperately between his belly and his pants. With the thought that Cas must have picked up on, he ran his attentions down Dean’s exposed chest, fingers dragging behind it, he noted Dean was still in his jeans. He looked back to Dean with that inquisitive head tilt, somewhat marred by a goddamn smirk, he raised himself up off his knees and pressed a palm to the fabric outline. Dean almost let a soft moan pass his lips before he noticed the warmth of skin on skin contact. Before Dean can let out any type of protest, Cas _grips_ Dean’s cock and copies his own actions from earlier, starting at a slow pace before gradually building in speed. If anything, he could at least say Cas was a damn fast learner.

Now divested of his clothing and somewhat unable to form any reasonable sentences, all Dean can do is lay flush against his bedding and just _feel_ Cas explore him. He runs one hand up across his chest while experimentally fisting at Dean with the other. With eyes tightly closed, Dean lay panting and helpless at the mercy of probably the best handjob in his life. It’s nothing on Cas’ less than perfect technique. He’s learning as he goes and Dean can’t even find it in him to care. Cas has barely touched him, barely done anything but the fact that Cas is pulling him apart this easily is just mean. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him and when he finally opens his eyes, they’re locked in a stare that stops his heart all together.

Thankful for the stupid tie still around his neck, Dean grabs it and rolls it around in his fist till it's tight and pulls Cas in for another hungry kiss. It’s rather weak, it's more panting into each other and stealing each other's air but it's exactly what Dean needs. It’s Cas and he’s here and he wants Dean the way Dean wants him. Maybe he finally understands what they’ve been dancing around for years. He wants to thank him. Thank him for not leaving. He wants to give him the world. He wants to give Cas all of him. He wants -  
“Fuck me, Cas.”

Clearly starting Cas as his wings beat just strong enough to pull back slightly from Dean. He can make out the confusion behind the lust as that signature squint and head tilt returns, albeit drastically weakened by hunger. He doesn't know, he never knows what the Angel is thinking. He barely even knows if Cas' knows what Dean is thinking half the time. He’s not sure how the whole ‘prayer’ works but now really isn't the time to be asking. Dean hopes a silent gesture may clear up any misunderstandings. As if there was some misinterpretation of ‘fuck me’. Dean pulled his arm, the one not still tangled in Cas’ tie and rested it gently on the curve of his shoulder before gently squeezing, desperately hoping he got his message across. Cas had claimed Dean. In whatever ‘Angel’ way that meant. The only way Dean could possibly interpret that, other than a giant and cosmic ‘dibs’, was Cas wanting Dean for himself. In every way. With a voice that was thick and heavy with desire, he purred,  
“I mean it. I need you Cas.”

“I’m not..” Cas caught his breath between words, “Dean, I’m not sure how..” Dean cut him off with another pull of his tie into a kiss, breaking apart only enough so that their foreheads pressed together.  
“I’ll walk you through it. It’s ok. ”   
Cas gently nodded and leant back far enough for Dean to reach into his top bedside drawer and fish out a small bottle of lube and a condom. Cas was roughly the same size as him, maybe a little bigger, but the condoms Dean had for himself should fit him fine.

Dean reached for Cas’ hand, one that was now beside his head, propping him up off the mattress and guided him to sit back on his knees. He brought Cas’ fingers to his mouth, gently pressing his lips to the tip before tracing his tongue around and over the digits. He kept his eyes focused on Cas’ studious glare, milking up whatever Dean would offer him. What finally tore his attentions away was the shuddering ruffle of Cas’ ever-present wings. The memory of Cas crying out when he pinned one to the wall sent a whole new fire to his groin and he stored the information away for later.

Once he felt he had teased him sufficiently, Dean opened the small bottle and drizzled it generously over Cas’ fingers. He then shifted slightly and encouraged Cas to get off him and move towards the end of the bed.

Cas, it seemed, had other plans.

He did move down Dean’s body, that much was true. Dean had raised his knees, planting his feet flat on the mattress when Cas had taken Dean’s erection with his other hand. He’d shifted between his legs, but he’d moved close enough to wrap his thick and kiss swollen lips around the head, earning him a breathy cry from Dean. As his tongue and lips searched and discovered every inch of Dean’s heavy and hard cock, he pressed a finger to Dean’s entrance, smearing some of the excess lube off his fingers and around the opening. The sudden sensation caused Dean to thrust up into Cas’ mouth which only encouraged him more. Considering his attentions were in two places at once, he was still intent on showing some of the skills he’d learned from Dean earlier.   
“Fuck, Cas.. You’re… God, just do it already.”

Cas hummed eagerly around Dean as his pushed one finger inside him. God, it had been so long since he allowed anyone to do this to him. He’d only done it a few times before when he was experimenting and, more often than not, completely drunk. He hadn’t even allowed himself to consider it till his Dad was out of the picture. If he found out he was messing around with guys he’d probably beat him like the time Sam ran away. After he figured he wasn’t there anymore, who cared who he did or what he liked. He did learn rather quickly that he preferred to bottom. After a long day of hunting, guys were more likely to say yes if they could top. That had purely been for the release though. To unwind after a hunt. This was so much different. This was _more._

He chased the sweet burn as he familiarised with Cas’ single digit. By the time he’d asked Cas for the second, it returned in full force. With Cas’ tongue tracing sinful circles around his shaft and his glans, he’d sweep up occasionally to suck the precome leaking from the head, distracting Dean from the worst of it before the pleasure ultimately took over. It’s not that Dean got off on the pain, though there was always going to be a part of him that felt like he deserved it. It was a small price to pay for what he’d done to Cas over the years and he knew what it was a precursor to so he was more than happy to take it. Dean walked Cas through with panted and broken instructions.  
“More, Cas. Yes.. Now open them..”  
“Fuck.. Add a third. Please!”

As he hesitantly pressed a third to meet the other two, Dean couldn’t hold back the wince as the burn rose again. Cas’ fingers were bigger than he thought. Noticing Dean tense, if only a little, he withdrew his fingers entirely. Suddenly too empty and Cas now too far away, Dean pleaded,  
“What? Cas no, please..”

“I’m hurting you, Dean.”  
He met Cas’ eye and the genuine concern had more than outweighed the burning that had been there not moments ago. His pupils were still blown, yes, but the warm blue was unmistakeable. He’d moved entirely away from his position, kneeling back and far too far away. Having caught his breath, Dean tried to calm the worry written across every feature.

“It’s alright. It’s going to hurt a little, I know, but once I -”  
“Dean, I don't want to _hurt_ you.”

The sudden realisation hit Dean like a train, ripping the breath from his lungs and leaving it caught in his throat. Cas may not have been in control but he still knew the feeling of beating Dean barely 6 hours ago. Perhaps they’d rushed into it. Perhaps they should have given the time to heal. Even though Cas had taken any physical proof when he'd pressed his lips to Dean's, Dean had no way to take the memory of what he’d done from Cas. He pushed himself to sitting upright and gently pressed forward.  
“Cas, that wasn’t you.”

“I could feel it, Dean. I felt your skin tear. I felt your bones as they cracked.” Cas’ voice broke as his wings began to shiver and just the sight tore at Dean’s heart. He pulled Cas in and held him, somewhat awkwardly trying to wrap his arms around him to avoid his wings. After settling on one arm wrapped around his waist, the other curled under his arm and he carefully stroked at the feathers he could reach. He breathed light kisses into his collarbone until the worst of the shivering subsided. He held him for a few moments, listening to his breath begin to steady before he pulled back, placing his hands on each of Cas’ cheeks, ensuring he had his full attention.

“You listen to me. Listen. That. Wasn’t. You.” He chased Cas’ glare as he tried to hide himself away, tried to look away from Dean. “Come on, man. I don’t blame you. I blame that bitch and believe me, I will hunt her down. But for now..”

Dean slid one hand from Cas’ lightly stubbled face and over his shoulder to his wing. He pressed his fingers through the askewed feathers and didn’t miss how Cas’ breath had picked up again. With his other hand guiding Cas back in for a kiss, not as heated and desperate as they had been but one mirroring the softness of Cas’ healing kiss, hoping it may have the same effect. He continued to trace his fingers through the strong feathers before pressing further into the kiss, turning the delicate exchange into one of passion and fire with Cas becoming more and more pliant. When he finally pulled back, the fire had begun to start anew in his eyes.  
“For now.. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

Stretching his wings out in a fierce and dominative display, Cas pressed at Dean’s chest, forcing him back onto the mattress with a surprised gasp. The smile that crossed Dean’s face was no longer gentle. It was sinful, dripping with a wild anticipation. They’d more than deserved to finally, _finally_ have each other. Dean, again shuffling his knees up to plant his feet on the increasingly disheveled bedspread, summoned Cas over with a playful raise of his eyebrow. Moving towards Dean with a grace that was just unfair, giving how Dean’s heart was thrumming in his chest, Cas remained on his knees between his legs. He reached between them to find the neglected puckered hole and pressed teasingly at the muscle, earning him a breathy moan from Dean.

“I promise not to hurt you Dean.” Before Dean could reach out for the bottle of lube to top up the remnants on Cas’ fingers, Cas had plunged in with one finger. He was still slick from his work earlier, easily enough for one of Cas’ fingers. The third may need a little more encouragement. Refusing to direct Cas to the sensitive bundle of nerves within him, this would be over way too quickly if he found it so early, he palmed again at the bed to his side, search blindly for the small bottle that was just out of his reach.

“Cas…” He struggled to hold his breath long enough to get the words out, the fire in his belly burning hot and the anticipation thrumming through his veins. “Cas you’re gonna need more..” He was cut off by Cas’ second finger pushing inside to meet the first. Dean shut his eyes tight, appreciating the returned pleasure though holding his breath, waiting for the burn that would follow but nothing came. Any words or question he’d formed melted into ragged breaths as Cas continued what he’d started earlier, pressing inside of Dean and scissoring his fingers to make way for the third. After what Cas had deemed as enough time, he pressed a third finger at the entrance to meet the other two.   
“Cas,” he panted heavily, “Wait, you said..”

“I won’t hurt you, Dean.” Meeting his eyes, he finally understood and felt stupid for not getting there earlier. There was a warmth behind the lust filled, blown pupils. With a flush across his face, contrasting the almost concern over his face, Dean had realised. Of course Cas wouldn’t hurt him. He’d be sure of it. They’d hurt each other time and time again and now, at their most vulnerable and most exposed Cas had decided there’d been enough hurt, enough pain between them. He’d be sure of it.

Dean barely made out the soft glow behind Cas as he pressed a third finger inside. Curling his toes, he shuddered as Cas’ finger slid in and joined the others to thoroughly prepare him. When Dean was able, he glanced and the vision between his legs, the gorgeous man with wings black as night, as he played with different speeds, pressures, before eventually curling his fingers and, accidentally rubbed past his sensitive nub. Cas noticed exactly how Dean had practically pleaded out and how his entire body twitched with the pleasure. Cas’ tilted his head up and smiled almost too innocently as he pressed at the spot again, eliciting another uncontrolled groan from Dean.  
“Cas, please.. Cas, I need you.”

With a noise almost like a growl, Cas moved closer still between Dean’s legs and palmed at his thighs. He drew Dean up slightly from the bed, positioning his waist in his lap. Dean had almost forgotten Cas hadn’t done this before. That he’d be making it up as he went. He wasn’t doing a too bad a job, as far as Dean was concerned. Taking another deep breath, Dean realised something he’d forgotten in all of Cas’ ministrations. He palmed at the bedspread again, searching for the foil packaging he knew he brought out earlier. He’d barely brought it to his lips to tear it open before Cas placed a tentative, yet strong hand on his wrist.   
“No, Dean. Please. I want to feel you.” The thick and wanton voice set his blood on fire and sent it through his veins like lava. He didn't think he’d needed anything in his life as much as he needed Cas right at this moment. He was right. It's not like he'd be in any danger of disease or whatever. He’d brought it out more out of habit than anything else.

Tossing it uselessly aside, he reached instead for the tie still around Cas’ throat and pulled him in for another deep and heated kiss. Dean licked at his bottom lip, wordlessly requesting to delve it inside Cas’ mouth to taste him once more. It was a taste he couldn’t get enough of. One he didn't think he could ever have enough of. It was so much more than the taste of a man, which must be the lingering essence of Jimmy. He could taste Cas above it all. He could taste the salt of a stormy sea, the wind in the tops of trees and the static in thunderstorms. Dean relished in every moan he pulled from his perfect enigma above him as he felt his hand reach between his legs, past his neglected cock who’s only attention had been the rubbing against Cas’ belly. Preparing for a burn he knew wasn’t going to come, his mouth dropped away from Cas as he pushed the tip of the head inside.   
“Cas.. Fuuuuuck….”

                     --------------------------------

Leaning back slightly, Castiel started slow. Not to protect him or try and dull any pain, but to experience Dean in his entirety. For each breath caught in Dean’s throat, for each wanton or desperate fight he held against his hips, trying so hard not to thrust upwards, Castiel drank in every moment of it. He pushed ever so slowly into the slick and wet heat of Dean. Of his Dean. The Dean he lay a claim to so many years ago. He’d made his claim in a selfish and hasty moment of weakness. Upon seeing the true magnificence of his soul. Never in his lifetime had he felt an overpowering need for anything, let alone to claim a soul that was promised to Michael.

He hadn’t been anticipating just how intensely he would feel this moment. Having experienced eons of history and data in a physical sense, the pure emotion behind this seemingly straightforward yet messy act between humans was overwhelming. In all his millennia, he’d never thought he’d feel like this. Angels weren’t subject to feeling the pains and pleasures of humans. They were there only to observe. Empty, but for their orders from God. There’d been so many times he’d asked himself if his fall had been worth it. If Uriel, Hester, Rachel, Raphael, his brothers and sisters, if they’d all been right in telling him that the path he was on was wrong. This moment with Dean, with their Righteous Man opening himself to Castiel in a way that was so sacred and so vulnerable, this made it all worth it.

Pushing further into Dean, Castiel continued the steady stream of grace trickling from his fingertips and into the flesh of the man below him. The hand that had been placed to guide himself inside was now mirroring the other, fingers gripped tight on each of Dean’s thighs, ensuring no pain would come to him. Once Castiel had finally become fully seated within him, he’d felt as this was the most natural thing in the world. Pausing to appreciate Dean writhing below him, he stretched his wings out as far as they could reach, taking the moment to gather his bearings. Taking deep and rhythmic breaths, he was sure he’d reach his completion far too soon, having not experienced this level of pleasure before.

Having barely adjusted to the slick tightness pressing around his vessel, one that he was now far too in tune with after rebuilding it himself, he’d been caught off guard by Dean’s ragged and rasping voice.  
“Move.”

Not realising he was staring right at him, into the perfect green of his eyes that he’d been lost in so many times before, he gave every attention to Dean and the way his chest was rising and falling with each shaking breath. Castiel palmed at his thighs again, almost trying to convince himself this was really happening, that it wasn’t some residual trick of Naomi's. Another scenario to see if he was capable of killing Dean. Before the awful possibility set in, Dean had grabbed his wrist with surprising force. The fluttering of his wings must have given him away again. He’d never worried about the subconscious movements of his wings before but it seemed Dean was already reading them as an insight into Cas’ thoughts.   
“Cas..” He could see Dean trembling though it wasn't out of fear like Naomi's imitations had been. No. She could never fully replicate the intensity of the green in his eyes. A green Castiel had searched far and wide for, but had failed to replicate. It couldn't be found in the depths of the Amazon forest or the rolling hillsides of New Zealand. He'd searched through the largest chrysolite deposits in Arizona, Burma and Norway, searching for exactly the right shade. He'd even checked the meteorite that fell in Siberia in 1749 as it was recorded to have a supply as well. Nothing could match his golden flecks dancing in a sea of moss. Castiel was safe here. He was safe with Dean.

Not requiring further instruction, Castiel pulled out, just barely, before pushing back inside and eliciting a whole new array of sounds from Dean. Almost overcome with the sensations, Castiel dared to continue the movements, pulling out further and further each time before slowly sinking back inside. It was ecstasy. Nothing in Heaven or on Earth could compare to this exact moment.

Sucking in a ragged breath, and with the encouragement of Dean's staggered moans and panting, he quickened the pace. The noises that almost escaped Dean were some of his favourites. He loved whenever Dean choked out his name, or a desperate plea sounding very much like it. He loved when he lost the ability to even form words. Though it still wasn't enough. He was still too far away. He needed to be closer.

Cas finally released one of Dean's thighs, not realising he'd been digging his fingers in so hard. He leant forward and pressed the hand down beside Dean's face, bringing them close enough to once again breathe each other's air.

                     --------------------------

This was is. Out of the countless times Dean thought he was going to die; from almost surrendering to Michael, almost going with Tessa after the accident with Dad, Hell he thought he was a goner a few Christmases back with those Pagan assholes but this was a whole other story. The way his heart pounded erratically in his chest, the way he could barely catch a breath, only to choke out desperate moans and plea’s, the way he’s clinging onto Cas’ shoulder like it's the only thing keeping him anchored; this was the way Dean Winchester was going to die.

It seemed fitting. He wouldn’t admit it but he’d been somewhat infatuated with the Angel since the barn. How could anyone make an entrance like that and not turn on any of the witnessing parties? Even when Cas was a dick Dean still had some rather special alone times imagining that cold and authoritative voice pulling him apart. In some of them he’d be the one to break through that icy demeanour and have the Angel of the Lord begging for _him_. But those had all been moments purely driven by lust. Moments after hunts or a long day's drive and he’d need some something to help him unwind. Not in a million years did he think he’d actually grow attached to him. To have this overpowering need to have Cas at his side. To trust him with everything in the world. He’d never thought Cas would care enough about him either.

No one cared about Dean. Sam was obligated to, by blood. But no one _actually_ cared. Not to take a command as direct and needing as ‘fuck me’ and turn it into something that could be on the same wavelengths as ‘lovemaking’. The thought alone caused him to press his eyes tightly closed and just feel Cas moving and the way he’s looking at Dean like he’s something so precious.. He can’t face him. He’s barely had his eyes shut for a second before Cas slows and Dean can hear the struggle in his voice at forming the words.  
“Dean… Please…”

Forcing them open again, he can feel the heat in his belly rising and knows he doesn't have long. Not after meeting those eyes, those damn eyes that have been eating away at him for years. The eyes that have always seen through whatever crap Dean put up to keep everyone out. The eyes of Cas. Once he’d opened them, Cas had smiled at him through the desperate panting and rewarded him with a thrust directly to his prostate, making him to arch his back off the bed and the sounds that came from him couldn’t have been his own. He’d never sounded this wrecked before in his life.

He’d been so utterly _fucked_ that he’d failed to pay any attention to his neglected cock. With each beautiful thrust Cas made, now with every other one pressing directly into that sweet, sensitive bundle of nerves, Dean knows he’s close. Knows his orgasm is looming and he’s never wanted to hold it back before. Never wanted this to keep going, and going but with Cas he doesn’t want this to end. He’s fighting a losing battle though and it's a move in desperation when he takes the hand that's been fisting the bed sheets next to him and brings it to his cock. He barely wraps his fingers around his twitching length, smearing it in the precome that's been gathering in a pool at the head, before he feels the final threat of the ledge in front of him.  
“Cas, I’m.. Shit Cas, I’m -” and with another succession of well aimed thrusts to his prostate, he tumbles over the edge entirely. He pushes his head back into his memory foam mattress and all but screams openly into the air above him as he comes hard around Cas.

For whatever reason, Dean can’t keep his eyes off him. Every fibre in his being is screaming at him to look away, close his eyes, anything but watch Cas as he rides through the crashing waves of his climax. Cas watches him intently, wearing an expression Dean can’t name. It’s something small and partially hidden behind darkened eyes and a heaving chest but it's there and it's warm, and it scares Dean. He doesn’t deserve to be looked at like that. Not with so much light. In a momentary weakness, not sure if it's driven by the fear or by something not quite as dark, he takes his hand from around his cock and _grabs_ at Cas’ wing, pulling at the bone and the charcoal feathers. The dark in his eyes immediately fades and a blue light replaces it as his thrusts become more erratic.

Somewhere between pleading and growling, Cas cries out,  
“Dean.. Dean, shut your eyes!”

It takes all the strength he las left to actually close them. Some post orgasm high is begging him to watch as a light begins to engulfs the room but his brain finally steps in when the corners of his eyes begin to burn. He may not be allowed to watch but damn if Cas is getting off easy. Blindly, he presses his fingers through the mass of feathers as the hand on his shoulder all but digs in. He grips is so tight that he’s half hoping a brand of his own will mark Cas as his, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. He wants to claim Cas, as Cas has claimed him.

Even with his eyes pressed tightly shut, he can still see the bright white glow past his eyelids. Through his own panting, he can still make out the sound of his feathers as they ruffle around his fingers but what gets him is the sound. The piercing ring that Dean has heard so many times when Cas’ grace unfurls as slightly marred by Cas’ voice. The high pitched scream is perfectly balanced with his vessels throaty cry and Dean thinks he can listen to that sound for hours on end. When it meets its harmonious crescendo, Dean is left breathless.

That's why when the light finally starts to die and the sound of both of Cas’ voices begin to fade, is when Dean realises the physical warmth against the base of his spine is something entirely separate from the warmth in his chest. It’s Cas come and he’s not nearly as disgusted as he thought he’d be. He’s never had any of his one nighters come in him without a condom and he’s glad he didn't. The very feeling of it pooling within him calms him in a way nothing ever has before, maybe will never again. It’s a promise and it’s a new claim and it's Cas. Dean truly belongs to him, in every sense of the word and he couldn't be happier. 


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken a moment after his completion for him to gather himself and even then he wasn’t sure if he had. Castiel had unfurled his grace before, whether a display of power over a demon or concentrated in a destructive blast. Each time he’d pull it back in again and feel like his vessel was pressing in on him. Like his skin was too tight to contain him. But not this time.

This time he was paralysed. He’d caught his breath after calling out Dean’s name, both with Jimmy’s voice and his own and he was left motionless. All he’d managed to do was focus on Dean below him, eyes still closed with his features set in an expression that could almost be called content. He stared at him probably longer than he should have. He’d watched Dean sleep before but this was different, by far. His eyes were only closed at Castiel's’ instruction. Dean was, most likely, very aware that Castiel was watching him.

Sure enough he’d barely registered that his vessel had started to soften when Dean’s eyes finally began to open. Almost surprised by Castiels, again, fixated stare on him, Dean stumbled on his words before a smile and a half laugh slipped out. Still half panting, he managed to ask,  
“You know, you really need to make up your mind if you want my eyes open or closed.” If he hadn’t been smiling, Castiel probably would have been more bothered by the question. He was unexpectedly concerned as to what Dean was feeling after whatever they had just shared. Castiel knew Dean had partaken in sex many times before but he didn’t want to be just another one on the list.

His body finally moved for him and encouraged him to finally pull out off in, causing Dean to wince slightly.  
“Are you alright, Dean?” He’d forced a small trickling of grace to his two fingertips again, in case he’d hurt Dean as he withdrew.

‘No. No, man it's fine.” He replied, still smiling and features softened. He took in another breath and continued. “Just been wanting that.. I guess, for a while.”

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. Nor could he help the way his wings stretched slightly before pulling behind him again to their resting position. Finally giving way to his vessels weakness, he moved from between Dean’s legs and lay on the bed beside him, silently hoping this wasn’t too much of an intrusion.

Lying beside Dean, watching as his breathing returned to normal, Castiel couldn't help but watch as the blush that had marred his freckles began to subside. He felt sorry for the loss. In its place, a hope filled him that he may be able to see it again in future. Castiel would very much like to do that again, many times, but that was what he wanted. He’d never ask that of Dean if that wasn’t a want they both shared. Castiel wanted nothing more than to wrap Dean in his wings and lay with him, like this, for the rest of eternity. Blocking out the world of demons, of Heaven and Hell, of all the hurt and the pain that Dean has suffered since he lost his mother. He’d protect Dean from all of it. But what did Dean want?

Not realising Dean had turned to face him, Castiel jolted from his delusion which must have been the result of his vessels reaction to the intercourse. Was it normal for a vessel to be so utterly useless after reaching completion? Castiel, again thought he’d love nothing more than to do this again and again to find out, though not only as a means of research. With a surprising amount of trepidation clear in Dean’s eyes, Castiel couldn't help but raise his arm and press it delicately to Dean’s cheek, completely feeling the flinch before he touched the skin.   
“Have you?”

The confusion replaced the anxiety on Dean’s face and Castiel found Dean was much easier to read when he was like this. He was so much more open, or at least unable to put up that wall he’d constantly hide behind. Castiel fought down the slight twist of anger that formed within him at the thought that other people had seen _his_ Dean like this.   
“Have I what?”

“You said you’d… That you’d wanted _that_.. For a while.” Castiel could have smiled again at the blush that threatened to creep over his freckles again. “Have you?”

As Dean turned away to face the ceiling, turned away from the hand on his cheek, Castiel pulled it back as if he’d been burned. He’d clearly overstepped, even if he was only repeating Dean’s own words. He saw Dean try to build that wall back up, one he’d put everything behind in a way to keep himself safe but Castiel wanted to keep him safe. Castiel wanted to be the one to protect him and he knew he was being selfish, just as he had been when he laid his claim but he was sick of seeing Dean hurt.

Dean often preferred his own company. Castiel was well aware. Perhaps if he left him now and allowed him to think, hopefully not that what they had just shared was a mistake, he’d consider the possibilities of them doing that again.

What if he _did_ think it was a mistake? He’d said he’d only wanted that, not that he wanted Castiel. What if he’s instantly regretting it and _wants_ Castiel to leave so he can chastise himself for .. Whatever reasoning he had. Castiel hoped against hope that Dean wasn't thinking that. As much as he wanted to stay, perhaps it would be best if he left and came back when Dean was thinking clearly.

Castiel rolled away from Dean and sat at the edge of the bed. After a quick scan to locate his clothing in the room, he stood to gather them. He could feel Dean’s eyes burning into his back as he reached for his shirt and pants, hanging over his arm before collecting his trenchcoat. Not daring to look back at Dean before taking off to get dressed, he began to spread his wings, pausing only for a moment to note how tattered they’d become while he was… When he was unable to clean them. Refusing to think, right now at least, back on the memory and fresh sensations of Dean running his fingers through them, he thought instead to where his room would be, as shown to him by Sam earlier.

Before he could spread them wide enough to fly, he flinched and turned at the sudden hand pressing into his left shoulder and spinning him around.   
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Almost dropping the clothing in his hands, Castiel swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He hadn’t heard Dean get off the bed, or make his way over here. He’d been too worried that Dean would want him gone and couldn’t bare it if he were to actually say the words himself. Suddenly lost, once again in a field of green and gold but not twisted in anger like he’d expected. He’d expected Dean to want him gone but the way he was looking at Castiel right now, on top of how his hand was gripped tight to his shoulder… Did Dean wanted him to stay? Unable to form a sentence, Castiel scanned Dean’s features for anything to give away what he was thinking. Dean dropped his hand from his shoulder, leaving the skin underneath feeling too open, too exposed.   
“I asked you a question, Cas.”

\---------------------------------------

He looked downright terrified. Dean had been somewhat unable to move once Cas first turned away but once he saw him begin to gather his clothes, something wasn't sitting right. It wasn’t till he spread his wings that Dean all but dove from the bed to keep him from taking off. Again.   
“I asked you a question, Cas.”

“Dean.. I-”  
“No, I know. You were going to leave. Like you always do. Every time I think you’re going to stay you leave. Leave _me_.”

That brought an expression Dean wasn't exactly prepared for. He expected Cas to vanish. To turn cold and simply walk away to prove his point. He even expected him to yell at him. Tell him that they’d made some stupid sin against Heaven and Dean had taken advantage of Cas’ moment of weakness after Naomi. What he wasn’t expecting was for him to look so utterly shattered. He’d looked as if Dean had plunged a knife into him all over again, only this time he had fallen just enough to feel it.   
“Dean -” Cas dropped the bundle of clothes and stretched his wings out again before tentatively bringing them forward, clearly with the intention of wrapping Dean in them but it seemed as though he was awaiting permission. With that damn squinty eyed stare, he continued “I’ll never abandon you, Dean.”

“Bullshit. You _always_ leave.” He didn’t want to pour his heart out like a damn teenager but something in him couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. “You went back to Heaven after Sam died. You chose Crowley … _Crowley_ over me? You left me in purgatory and you went back to Heaven the moment you got out. So just tell me.” Everything in Dean was begging him to stop. To move back and shut himself off as he’d trained himself to do but something in him pushed forward. He moved closer to Cas and cupped his face in his hands. “Why?”

Dean knew the moment Cas was going to kiss him. He’d flickered his eyes between Dean’s and his lips in some unspoken request before pressing them softly against Dean’s. It mimicked the kiss in the crypt almost to the letter. The tender touch, the warmth that poured throughout Dean, Hell, even the almost calming effect it had on him was like he was being healed all over again. He wasn’t entirely sure Cas wasn't leaking some healing mojo through it but he suddenly found he didn't care anymore. He could get used to these kisses. The soft and gentle ones, the hard and desperate ones they’d shared not an hour ago. He could very much get used to them.

When Cas finally pulled away, keeping his wings wrapped around the pair of them, he finally spoke.   
“Everything I do.. Everything I have done since I met you has been for you. Because of you.” Dean felt his face harden into something. Confusion, fear, he wasn’t sure but instead of hiding himself away, he let Cas continue, even though it seemed to pain him to do so. “I .. I only.. I thought when you’d looked away that.. That you regretted our actions.”

Dean felt his breath being torn from his lungs, punched out at Cas’ admittance. God, they both had it so, so wrong. He admitted to himself that communication was never a strong suit with them. Dean had been fighting so hard to keep Cas with him. Even when he’d thought he’d left him, some part of him was always fighting to get him back. Now they he was here, _really_ here, they still didn’t know how to talk to each other.  
“Dude.. No..” Dean kept Cas’ jaw cupped in his hands and lightly ran his thumbs over the stubble that had begun to form. Any reassuring words Dean had for Cas melted away at the not-exactly-pleasant sensation and maybe delayed reaction to come threatening to seep out and leak down his leg. Right. This was another reason why he hadn’t let anyone come in him before. “Alright.” Sliding his hands from Cas’ cheeks down to his shoulders, he gave a short smile. “There’s a shower room down the hall, third on the left. We’re going to talk this shit out and I’m going to fix your wings, you hear me?” His tone was low and husky, but the way Cas’ eyes lit up, Dean knew some reassurance had come from it. 


	13. Epilogue

It was comforting. The last time Castiel had flown with him he had a sea of various horrors across his face. He was clearly terrified that Dean could see his wings. Scared that Dean had kept it so long that he grew accustomed enough not to baulk in a room with him. Castiel was visibly tense. He held it in his shoulders, Hell, even Dean could see the way he beat them before taking flight was tense. But not this time. When Castiel had taken them a stone's throw down the hallway to the bathrooms, Dean had never seen him so content. On instruction, he’d opened his wings as far as they would stretch, completely relishing in Dean’s expression before beating them one single, powerful time. Castiel had flown this freely before, but this time he was proud. He felt warm.

Once they’d reached the showers, Castiel was clearly surprised. He’d expected something similar to the confining spaces the Winchesters would usually bathe in when they stayed at questionable hotels. He never even considered a larger setting purely for the task of cleaning oneself. The room was long and open, similar in size to some of the humble churches he’d visited. Though this room was covered in a sequence of grey and cream tiles and had modest stone dividing walls between the shower partitions. Along the middle of the room was a pair of wooden benches and behind them sat a row of lockers. This would have been very efficient for the Men of Letters in their time. They’d save a great deal on the water siphoned from the local towns water supply. Castiel was constantly impressed by the order that Sam and Dean were now a part of.

As soon as he’d touched down, flicking his wings slightly before pressing them into his side, Dean had moved from him and to the centre shower. Watching as he moved, he turned the taps and felt gingerly at the water before moving under it entirely. Castiel was left paralysed in place, hypnotised by the way the water ran over Dean’s shoulder blades and down the curve of his spine. He felt the breath catch in his throat and knew his feathers were trembling, but couldn’t find it in him to move. The vision before him was so simple. So effortlessly human, but as it was Dean, it became something more entrancing to watch. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there before he was snapped back into focus by Dean calling for him.  
“Would you quit staring and get over here already?”

Castiel flared his wings slightly, suddenly all too aware of the feathers that were askew how they dug uncomfortably against the others.   
“Isn’t it customary for humans to shower alone. Surely i’d only be in the way if I joined you.”  
Dean smiled. A pure, strong smile. Castiel hadn’t seen pure elation across Dean’s face for far too long.   
“Just get in here, Cas.”

Castiel moved tentatively towards the shower space. It would seem confining, though the dividing wall only came just above his waist. He was free to stretch his wings above and across into the other partitions. He silently questioned whether all open showers were like this or if the Men of Letters catered for a variety of creatures as well.

Dean stepped to the side, the half smile still radiating through his eyes as Castiel stepped under the water. He all but groaned as the almost perfect pressure of the water danced over his skin and danced where his wings protruded from back. He’d barely had his head under the water before he felt the delicate touch of Dean’s lips and fingers along his neck and down his sides. Castiel could get used to this. The sensations both from the shower and from Dean came together in a synchronicity that pulled another soft purr from his throat.

One thing he noticed about the shower was, regardless of whether or not he was in the water, the tiled room didn’t seem to remain as cold as it seemed upon first arrival. Even when the steam and water were seeped away into drains and vents, the warmth stayed in the room. It was a pleasant warmth and, given the humidity, Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what the Men of Letters had done to create such a comforting space.

Having been somewhat distracted by the water, Castiel's wings flared in surprise once a foreign material was felt against his skin. He opened his eyes, unaware that he’d closed them to appreciate the water flow, to see Dean with a handful of white suds across a decorative, dull coloured sponge. Dean gave a quick, yet reassuring kiss before directing Castiel to stand as close as he could to the wall, leaving the water to trickle down the back of his neck and between his wings. Castiel felt any tension he was carrying melt away as Dean slid the soapy sponge down his back, missing his wings entirely. He thoroughly cleaned each of Castiel's legs, down each and back up again before moving onto his arms which were pressed onto the shower wall in front of him. Once Dean found him sufficiently covered in suds, he'd momentarily placed the sponge down while he worked his fingers into Castiel's muscles. Castiel could feel where Dean had leant his forehead on the back of his neck. He placed light kisses as he worked strong, yet gentle fingers into Castiel's arms and threaded them between his fingers. Castiel thought he should be embarrassed by the appreciative moans Dean pulled from him, but he simply couldn't seem to care.

After far longer than was surely needed just to clean him, Dean pulled away from Castiel and grabbed at the sponge that sat on the stone wall next to them. Castiel could feel the hesitation before Dean spoke.  
“I’m not .. I don’t really know what I’m doing here, man. You tell me if I hurt you or whatever, you got it?” With a thick anticipation.. Dean was offering to clean his wings.. Castiel couldn't form the sentence he meant to say. He wanted to tell him he couldn’t hurt him, not unless he physically tried. He warn him how sensitive they were to the calming pleasure he’d undoubtedly feel but something told him Dean had already figured that out, given the way he’d used it against him not moments ago. Castiel wanted to tell Dean no one had touched his wings before. Not in the way Dean had, or was about to. All he could give him, though was a broken nod and a stretch of his wings, showing his permission rather than speaking it.

Castiel sighed, heavily and audibly, at the first touch of the soapy sponge to his wings. The slick glide across his feathers was incredible. He’d cleaned his own wings before. They required constant grooming and preening but that was by his own hand. It was remarkable having another bring the suds through this alula, down his coverts and out to his primary and secondaries. He’d started somewhat tentatively. As though gauging Castiel’s reactions as he fed the suds over and through the feathers. Though given how Castiel blatantly pressed back into it and moaned lazily against the tiled wall, Dean soon discarded the sponge and began tracing his fingers through from the lesser coverts all the way down to the primaries. Having achieved his orgasm not too long ago, the pleasure that came from this swam deep in his belly and stayed there. The feeling so relaxing and calming, even going so far as to threaten sleep on him. He was pulled out of his trance, yet again, by the deep an gravelled sound of Dean’s voice.

“You said..” He paused, the hesitance clear in the sigh between sentences. “When a claim is laid on a living soul it leaves a mark.” Dean continued adjusting the stray median and secondary coverts. “A brand.” Castiel’s wings flexed and shuddered under Dean’s touch, knowing full well he couldn’t avoid his questions. He’d been hesitant to answer them. He that one day Dean would have figured it out. He’d thought of a number of ways to avoid the topic, the easiest of which being just to leave but he didn’t feel that need. The need to run and hide and lie to Dean for his own safety as he’d done regrettably in the past. Dean had been so open with him. He gave Castiel everything he had, and more. How could Castiel offer anything but the same open honesty in return?

“When… When I saw you. In Hell. I knew who you were. I knew you were Michaels. I didn’t…” Castiel darted his tongue across his lips, as if the words were sitting on them, waiting to be spoken. “I didn’t care. I was ordered to raise you from perdition.” That much Dean knew. “Hester was right. When I first laid a hand on you...I was lost.”

\----------------------------------------

Dean palmed lightly at Cas’ shoulder, encouraging him to turn from the wall and face him It took more maneuvering than he thought. It was by no means, graceful but Dean had to look him in the eye when he said the words. He knew full well his wings would have passed through the stone dividers but given how utterly present they were, how dark and massive they were, Dean couldn’t help but arrange himself as if they were actually there.

When he’d turned to face Dean, there was something in the blue of his eyes that he couldn’t quite name. Something sad, yet worried. Like my answer he’d give Dean would cause him to run a mile. Dean had picked the showers to finally ask him. Not just because he could feel the come and the delayed reaction of it as it began to leak out of him. Not just because it was a damn good excuse to be able to touch his wings as much as he liked. But here, he wouldn't be able to run away. Well, he was less likely to. Not one for chick flick moments himself, he also found the privacy of the shower room comforting. It’s not like Sam would be busting in anytime soon, or anyone else for that matter but just the feel of it was something private. They had the room, the whole bunker it themselves. If there was any time or place to be talking about it all, this would be it.

With a half smile, Dean finally broke the silence.  
“Didn’t that piss Michael off? Did he even know?” He kept his eyes glued to Cas’, refusing to be the one to break, but out of his peripherals he caught the giant black shadows and they were trembling. Like they wanted to move but Cas was holding back. He kept looking at Dean like was trying to unravel some great mystery. Dean couldn’t help the warmth that filled him whenever Cas looked at him like that. Like he was the centre of the world.   
“I don’t think he knew. If he did, it's likely he would have obliterated me like Lucifer did, only much, much sooner. To claim a living soul, it's not typically done. It’s a method reserved for demons and their transactions. It’s a mark of…” He hesitated, looking away for the first time since he’d turned around. “It’s a mark of ownership.”

Dean’s expression shifted to something harder. His smile began to fade and an anger threatened to rise in his veins.  
“Ownership? So you’ve _owned_ me since you got me out?”   
“Dean, it's difficult to explain.”  
“Well _try_.”

He didn’t want his words to come out as bitter as they sounded. They were on very shaky ground and Dean was trying to do everything in his power to keep Cas from running again. Shouting at him sure as hell wasn’t going to help. He’d dropped his hands from Cas’ wings, far from being finished. He still had to rinse the soap out. But he needed his and Cas’ full attention. After a moment of silence that felt like an eternity, Cas raised his right hand.   
“I don’t know the words, Dean. Anything I saw will only make it sound worse to you. I can show you.”

The moment Cas lay his hand on the renewed brand, Dean felt the searing pain beneath it. He sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth as the burn set fire to something else in him. Something he knew was always there. Something that saw Cas in his middle form, somewhere between angel and human and it was _warm_. It flowed through his veins and erased any doubt, any fear. It was as if his Grace had weaved through every fibre of his being and right into the pits of his soul. Dean could feel it and it was light. It was pure. He felt the adoration and the protection. This was love in its purest form and Dean felt every pulse of it. Once Cas had lowered his hand, it took Dean a full moment to gather his bearings. He’d never.. He’d never felt anything like it.

Barely in control of his actions, he lunged into Cas and kissed him, full and deep. It wasn’t the softness of Cas’ healing kiss, it wasn't as hungered and desperate as the ones that followed. It was something in between. Something wrapped in the light Cas had shown Dean. He fought with everything he had not to cry right there like a little girl but even through closed eyes he could feel the sting of tears start to build. Cas hadn’t told Dean he loved him. No one had told him that since he was 4, not without a hearty Star Wars reference behind it. Dean knew deep down he’d never hear the words. Probably never be able to say them either but Cas had pushed through all that crap, all the years of people using him or abandoning him. He poured his Grace, his love into Dean and it was overwhelming.

Finally pulling away, making sure his body hadn’t betrayed him into all out crying, Dean looked at Cas, suddenly feeling all too small. He’d never be able to give Cas what he’d just given Dean. He didn't think he’d even be able to say the words. They were too heavy and the few times he had used them, they’d only left him. Mom, Cassie. He’d said it to Sam and he bailed for Stanford for years. If he said it now, what was to stop Cas leaving too. Some part of him knew he wouldn't. He’s just given Dean every reason in the world to believe he wasn’t going anywhere but the words were like a curse. It would happen sooner or later.

Cas clearly saw the internal struggle, Hell, he probably heard half of it. He still didn’t know if Cas could hear thoughts about him or if praying acted as some kind of filter but either way, he leant forward, gave Dean such a delicate kiss that he worried he may fall apart all together, before Cas spoke for him. Unspoken and knowing words almost readable in his eyes alone.

  
“We should wash the soap out, Dean.” 


End file.
